Marria 
a  la  Mode 


Mrs.HumphryWard 


j 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 


.  OF  CAIJF.  LIBRARY.  LOS 


BY  THE   SAME   AUTHOR 

Amiel's  Journal  (translated) 

Miss  Bretherton 

Robert  Elsmere 

The  History  of  David  Grieve 

Marcella 

Sir  George  Tressady 

Helbeck  of  Bannisdale 

Eleanor 

Lady  Rose's  Daughter 

The  Marriage  of  William  Ashe 

Agatha 

Fenwick's  Career 

Milly  and  Oily 

The  Testing  of  Diana  Mallory 


BY 
MRS.    HUMPHRY    WARD 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  FRED  PEGRAM 


(  _ 


firU 


3 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1909 


ALL  RIGHTS    RESERVED,    INCLUDING   THAT   OF   TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN   LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING   THE   SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT,    1908,     BY    MRS.   HUMPHRY    WARD 

COPYRIGHT,    1909,    BY    MARY    AUGUSTA    WARD 

PUBLISHED,    11AY,    1909 


TO  L.  C. 


NOTE 

THIS  STORY  APPEAHED  IN  ENGLAND  UNDEB  THE  TITLE  Of 
"DAPHNE."  THE  PUBLISHERS  ABE  INDEBTED  TO  THB 
PROPRIETORS  OF  THE  "  PAfeL  MALL  MAGAZINE  "  FOR  THEIB 
PERMISSION  TO  USE  THE  DRAWINGS  BT  MB.  FRED  PEGRAM. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Daphne  Floyd    .  ...     Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGE 

"  He  caught  the  hand,  he  gathered  its  owner  into  a 
pair  of  strong  arms,  and  bending  over  her,  he 
kissed  her " 92 

"  In  the  dead  of  night  Daphne  sat  up  in  bed, 
looking  at  the  face  and  head  of  her  husband 
beside  her  on  the  pillow  "  ....  156 

"  Her  whole   being   was  seething  with  passionate 

and  revengeful  thought "    ,         ,         «        «         .     184 


PART    I 


Marriage  a  la  Mode 

CHAPTER  I 

A  STIFLING  hot  day!"  General  Hobson 
lifted  his  hat  and  mopped  his  forehead 
indignantly.  "What  on  earth  this  place  can  be 
like  in  June  I  can't  conceive!  The  tenth  of 
April,  and  I  '11  be  bound  the  thermometer 's 
somewhere  near  eighty  in  the  shade.  You 
never  find  the  English  climate  playing  you 
these  tricks." 

Roger  Barnes  looked  at  his  uncle  with 
amusement. 

"Don't  you  like  heat,  Uncle  Archie?  Ah, 
but  I  forgot,  it 's  American  heat." 

"I  like  a  climate  you  can  depend  on,"  said 
the  General,  quite  conscious  that  he  was  talk- 
ing absurdly,  yet  none  the  less  determined 
to  talk,  by  way  of  relief  to  some  obscure  annoy- 
ance. "Here  we  are  sweltering  in  this  abomin- 
able heat,  and  in  New  York  last  week  they  had 
a  blizzard,  and  here,  even,  it  was  cold  enough 
to  give  me  rheumatism.  The  climate  Js  always 
in  extremes  —  like  the  people." 


4  MARRIAGF  A  LA  MODE 

"I  'm  sorry  to  find  ^  i  don't  like  the  States, 
Uncle  Archie." 

The  young  man  sat  down  beside  his  uncle. 
They  were  in  the  deck  saloon  of  a  steamer 
which  had  left  Washington  about  an  hour 
before  for  Mount  Vernon.  Through  the  open 
doorway  to  their  left  they  saw  a  wide  expanse 
of  river,  flowing  between  banks  of  spring  green, 
and  above  it  thunderous  clouds,  in  a  hot  blue. 
The  saloon,  and  the  decks  outside,  held  a  great 
crowd  of  passengers,  of  whom  the  majority 
were  women. 

The  tone  in  which  Roger  Barnes  spoke 
was  good-tempered,  but  quite  perfunctory. 
Any  shrewd  observer  would  have  seen  that 
whether  his  uncle  liked  the  States  or  not  did 
not  in  truth  matter  to  him  a  whit. 

"And  I  consider  all  the  arrangements  for 
this  trip  most  unsatisfactory,"  the  General 
continued  angrily.  "The  steamer's  too  small, 
the  landing-place  is  too  small,  the  crowd  getting 
on  board  was  something  disgraceful.  They  '11 
have  a  shocking  accident  one  of  these  days. 
And  what  on  earth  are  all  these  women  here 
for  —  in  the  middle  of  the  day  ?  It 's  not  a 
holiday." 

"I  believe  it's  a  teachers'  excursion,"  said 
young  Barnes  absently,  his  eyes  resting  on 
the  rows  of  young  women  in  white  blouses  and 


MARRIAGE  A -LA  MODE  5 

spring  hats  who  sat ,  'A  close-packed  chairs 
upon  the  deck  —  an  eager,  talkative  host. 

"  H'm  —  Teachers ! "  The  General's  tone 
was  still  more  pugnacious.  "Going  to  learn 
more  lies  about  us,  I  suppose,  that  they  may 
teach  them  to  school-children?  I  was  turn- 
ing over  some  of  their  school-books  in  a  shop 
yesterday.  Perfectly  abominable!  It 's  mon- 
strous what  they  teach  the  children  here  about 
what  they  're  pleased  to  call  their  War  of 
Independence.  All  that  we  did  was  to  ask 
them  to  pay  something  for  their  own  protection. 
What  did  it  matter  to  us  whether  they  were 
mopped  up  by  the  Indians,  or  the  French,  or 
not?  'But  if  you  want  us  to  go  to  all  the 
expense  and  trouble  of  protecting  you,  and 
putting  down  those  fellows,  why,  hang  it,'  we 
said,  'you  must  pay  some  of  the  bill!'  That 
was  all  English  Ministers  asked;  and  perfectly 
right  too.  And  as  for  the  men  they  make 
such  a  fuss  about,  Samuel  Adams,  and  John 
Adams,  and  Franklin,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
crew,  I  tell  you,  the  stuff  they  teach  American 
school-children  about  them  is  a  poisoning  of 
the  wells!  Franklin  was  a  man  of  profligate 
life,  whom  I  would  never  have  admitted  inside 
my  doors !  And  as  for  the  Adamses  —  intriguers 
-  canting  fellows!  —  both  of  them." 

"Well,    at    least   you'll    give    them    George 


6  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Washington."  As  he  spoke,  Barnes  concealed 
a  yawn,  followed  immediately  afterwards  by  a 
look  of  greater  alertness,  caused  by  the 
discovery  that  a  girl  sitting  not  far  from  the 
doorway  in  the  crowd  outside  was  certainly 
pretty. 

The  red-faced,  white-haired  General  paused 
a  moment  before  replying,  then  broke  out: 
"What  George  Washington  might  have  been 
if  he  had  held  a  straight  course  I  am  not  pre- 
pared to  say.  As  it  is,  I  don't  hesitate  for  a 
moment!  George  Washington  was  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  rebel  —  a  damned  rebel ! 
And  what  Englishmen  mean  by  joining  in  the 
worship  of  him  I  've  never  been  able  to  under- 
stand." 

"I  say,  uncle,  take  care,"  said  the  young 
man,  looking  round  him,  and  observing  with 
some  relief  that  they  seemed  to  have  the  saloon 
to  themselves.  "These  Yankees  will  stand  most 
things,  but  - 

'You  needn't  trouble  yourself,  Roger,"  was 
the  testy  reply;  "I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  annoy- 
ing my  neighbours.  Well  now,  look  here, 
what  I  want  to  know  is,  what  is  the  meaning  of 
this  absurd  journey  of  yours?" 

The  young  man's  frown  increased.  He  began 
to  poke  the  floor  with  his  stick.  "I  don't 
know  why  you  call  it  absurd?" 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  7 

'To  me  it  seems  both  absurd  and  extrava- 
gant," said  the  other  with  emphasis.  "The 
last  thing  I  heard  of  you  was  that  Burdon  and 
Co.  had  offered  you  a  place  in  their  office,  and 
that  you  were  prepared  to  take  it.  When  a 
man  has  lost  his  money  and  becomes  dependent 
upon  others,  the  sooner  he  gets  to  work  the 
better." 

Roger  Barnes  reddened  under  the  onslaught, 
and  the  sulky  expression  of  his  handsome 
mouth  became  more  pronounced.  "I  think 
my  mother  and  I  ought  to  be  left  to  judge  for 
ourselves,"  he  said  rather  hotly.  "We  have  n't 
asked  anybody  for  money  yet,  Uncle  Archie. 
Burdon  and  Co.  can  have  me  in  September 
just  as  well  as  now;  and  my  mother  wished  me 
to  make  some  friends  over  here  who  might 
be  useful  to  me." 

"Useful  to  you.     How?" 

"I  think  that's  my  affair.  In  this  country 
there  are  always  openings -- things  turning  up 
-  chances --you  can't  get  at  home." 

The  General  gave  a  disapproving  laugh. 
'The  only  chance  that  '11  help  you,  Roger, 
at  present  —  excuse  me  if  I  speak  frankly  — 
is  the  chance  of  regular  wrork.  Your  poor 
mother  has  nothing  but  her  small  fixed  income, 
and  you  have  n't  a  farthing  to  chuck  away  on 
what  you  call  chances.  Why,  your  passage  by 


8  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

the  Lucania  alone  must  have  cost  a  pretty  penny. 
I  '11  bet  my  hat  you  came  first  class." 

The  young  man  was  clearly  on  the  brink 
of  an  explosion,  but  controlled  himself  with 
an  effort.  "  I  paid  the  winter  rate ;  and  mother 
who  knows  the  Cunard  people  very  well,  got 
a  reduction.  I  assure  you,  Uncle  Archie, 
neither  mother  nor  I  is  a  fool,  and  we  know 
quite  well  what  we  are  about." 

As  he  spoke  he  raised  himself  with  energy, 
and  looked  his  companion  in  the  face. 

The  General,  surveying  him,  was  mollified, 
as  usual,  by  nothing  in  the  world  but  the 
youth's  extraordinary  good  looks.  Roger 
Barnes's  good  looks  had  been,  indeed,  from  his 
childhood  upward  the  distinguishing  and 
remarkable  feature  about  him.  He  had  been  a 
king  among  his  schoolfellows  largely  because 
of  them,  and  of  the  athletic  prowess  which 
went  with  them;  and  while  at  Oxford  he  had 
been  cast  for  the  part  of  Apollo  in  "  The  Eume- 
nides,"  Nature  having  clearly  designed  him  for  it 
in  spite  of  the  lamentable  deficiencies  in  his 
Greek  scholarship,  which  gave  his  prompters 
and  trainers  so  much  trouble.  Nose,  chin, 
brow,  the  poising  of  the  head  on  the  shoulders, 
the  large  blue  eyes,  lidded  and  set  with  a 
Greek  perfection,  the  delicacy  of  the  lean, 
slightly  hollow  cheeks,  combined  with  the 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  9 

astonishing  beauty  and  strength  of  the  head, 
crowned  with  ambrosial  curls  —  these  posses- 
sions, together  with  others,  had  so  far  made  life 
an  easy  and  triumphant  business  for  their  owner. 
The  "others,"  let  it  be  noted,  however,  had 
till  now  always  been  present;  and,  chief  amongst 
them,  great  wealth  and  an  important  and 
popular  father.  The  father  was  recently  dead, 
as  the  black  band  on  the  young  man's  arm  still 
testified,  and  the  wealth  had  suddenly  vanished, 
wholly  and  completely,  in  one  of  the  financial 
calamities  of  the  day.  General  Hobson,  con- 
templating his  nephew,  and  mollified,  as  we 
have  said,  by  his  splendid  appearance,  kept 
saying  to  himself:  "He  has  n't  a  farthing  but 
what  poor  Laura  allows  him;  he  has  the  tastes 
of  forty  thousand  a  year;  a  very  indifferent 
education;  and  what  the  deuce  is  he  going 
to  do?" 

Aloud  he  said: 

"Well,  all  I  know  is,  I  had  a  deplorable 
letter  last  mail  from  your  poor  mother." 

The  young  man  turned  his  head  away,  his 
cigarette  still  poised  at  his  lips.  'Yes,  I 
know  —  mother  's  awfully  down." 

"Well,  certainly  your  mother  was  never 
meant  for  a  poor  woman,"  said  the  General, 
with  energy.  "She  takes  it  uncommonly  hard." 

Roger,    with   face    still    averted,    showed    no 


10  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

inclination  to  discuss  his  mother's  character  on 
these  lines. 

"However,  she'll  get  along  all  right,  if  you 
do  your  duty  by  her,"  added  the  General, 
not  without  a  certain  severity. 

"I  mean  to  do  it,  sir."  Barnes  rose  as  he 
spoke.  "I  should  think  we  're  getting  near 
Mount  Vernon  by  this  time.  I  '11  go  and 
look." 

He  made  his  way  to  the  outer  deck,  the 
General  following.  The  old  soldier,  as  he 
moved  through  the  crowd  of  chairs  in  the  wake 
of  his  nephew,  was  well  aware  of  the  attention 
excited  by  the  young  man.  The  eyes  of  many 
damsels  were  upon  him;  and,  while  the  girls 
looked  and  said  nothing,  their  mothers  laughed 
and  whispered  to  each  other  as  the  young 
Apollo  passed. 

Standing  at  the  side  of  the  steamer,  the 
uncle  and  nephew  perceived  that  the  river  had 
widened  to  a  still  more  stately  breadth,  and 
that,  on  the  southern  bank,  a  white  building,  high 
placed,  had  come  into  view.  The  excursionists 
crowded  to  look,  expressing  their  admiration 
for  the  natural  scene  and  their  sense  of  its 
patriotic  meaning  in  a  frank,  enthusiastic  chatter, 
which  presently  enveloped  the  General,  standing 
in  a  silent  endurance  like  a  rock  among  the 
waves. 


11 

"Is  n't  it  fine  to  think  of  his  coming  back  here 
to  die,  so  simply,  when  he  'd  made  a  nation?" 
said  a  young  girl  --  perhaps  from  Omaha  —  to 
her  companion.  "Wasn't  it  just  lovely?" 

Her  voice,  restrained,  yet  warm  with  feeling, 
annoyed  General  Hobson.  He  moved  away, 
and  as  they  hung  over  the  taffrail  he  said, 
with  suppressed  venom  to  his  companion: 
"Much  good  it  did  them  to  be  'made  a  nation'! 
Look  at  their  press  --  look  at  their  corruption  — 
their  divorce  scandals!" 

Barnes  laughed,  and  threw  his  cigarette-end 
into  the  swift  brown  water. 

"Upon  my  word,  Uncle  Archie,  I  can't  play 
up  to  you.  As  far  as  I  've  gone,  I  like  America 
and  the  Americans." 

"Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  your  mother 
gave  you  some  introductions  to  rich  people  in 
New  York,  and  they  entertained  you?"  said 
the  General  drily. 

"Well,  is  there  any  crime  in  that?  I  met 
a  lot  of  uncommonly  nice  people." 

"And  did  n't  particularly  bless  me  when 
I  wired  to  you  to  come  here  ?" 

The  young  man  laughed  again  and  paused 
a  moment  before  replying. 

"I  'm  always  very  glad  to  come  and  keep 
you  company,  Uncle  Archie." 

The  old  General  reddened  a  little.     Privately, 


12  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

he  knew  very  well  that  his  telegram  summoning 
young  Barnes  from  New  York  had  been  an  act 

J  o 

of  tyranny  —  mild,  elderly  tyranny.  He  was  not 
amusing  himself  in  Washington,  where  he  was 
paying  a  second  visit  after  an  absence  of  twenty 
years.  His  English  soul  was  disturbed  and 
affronted  by  a  wholly  new  realization  of  the 
strength  of  America,  by  the  giant  forces  of  the 
young  nation,  as  they  are  to  be  felt  pulsing 
in  the  Federal  City.  He  was  up  in  arms 
for  the  Old  World,  wondering  sorely  and 
secretly  what  the  New  might  do  with  her 
in  the  times  to  come,  and  foreseeing  an  ever- 
increasing  deluge  of  unlovely  things  —  ideals, 
principles,  manners  —  flowing  from  this  western 
civilization,  under  which  his  own  gods  were 
already  half  buried,  and  would  soon  be  hidden 
beyond  recovery.  And  in  this  despondency 
which  possessed  him,  in  spite  of  the  attentions 
of  Embassies,  and  luncheons  at  the  White 
House,  he  had  heard  that  Roger  was  in  New 
York,  and  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to 
send  for  him.  After  all,  Roger  was  his  heir. 
Unless  the  boy  flagrantly  misbehaved  himself, 
he  would  inherit  General  Hobson's  money 
and  small  estate  in  Northamptonshire.  Before 
the  death  of  Roger's  father  this  prospective 
inheritance,  indeed,  had  not  counted  for  very 
much  in  the  family  calculations.  The  General 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  13 

had  even  felt  a  shyness  in  alluding  to  a  matter 
so  insignificant  in  comparison  with  the  general 
scale  on  which  the  Barnes  family  lived.  But 
since  the  death  of  Barnes  pere,  and  the  com- 
plete pecuniary  ruin  revealed  by  that  event, 
Roger's  expectations  from  his  uncle  had  assumed 
a  new  importance.  The  General  was  quite 
aware  of  it.  A  year  before  this  date  he  would 
never  have  dreamed  of  summoning  Roger  to 
attend  him  at  a  moment's  notice.  That  he  had 
done  so,  and  that  Roger  had  obeyed  him,  showed 
how  closely  even  the  family  relation  may 
depend  on  pecuniary  circumstance. 

The  steamer  swung  round  to  the  landing- 
place  under  the  hill  of  Mount  Vernon.  Again, 
in  disembarkation,  there  was  a  crowd  and  rush 
which  set  the  General's  temper  on  edge.  He 
emerged  from  it,  hot  and  breathless,  after 
haranguing  the  functionary  at  the  gates  on  the 
inadequacy  of  the  arrangements  and  the  likeli- 
hood of  an  accident.  Then  he  and  Roger 
strode  up  the  steep  path,  beside  beds  of  blue 
periwinkles,  and  under  old  trees  just  bursting 
into  leaf.  A  spring  sunshine  was  in  the  air 
and  on  the  grass,  which  had  already  donned  its 
"livelier  emerald."  The  air  quivered  with 
heat,  and  the  blue  dome  of  sky  diffused  it. 
Here  and  there  a  magnolia  in  full  flower  on  the 
green  slopes  spread  its  splendour  of  white  or 


14  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

pinkish  blossom  to  the  sun;  the  great  river, 
shimmering  and  streaked  with  light,  swept 
round  the  hill,  and  out  into  a  pearly  distance; 
and  on  the  height  the  old  pillared  house 
with  its  flanking  colonnades  stood  under  the 
thinly  green  trees  in  a  sharp  light  and  shade 
which  emphasized  all  its  delightful  qualities 
-  made,  as  it  were,  the  most  of  it,  in  response 
to  the  eagerness  of  the  crowd  now  flowing 
round  it. 

Half-way  up  the  hill  Roger  suddenly  raised 
his  hat. 

"Who  is  it?"  said  the  General,  putting 
up  his  eyeglass. 

'The  girl  we  met  last  night  and  her  brother." 

"  Captain  Boyson?  So  it  is.  They  seem 
to  have  a  party  with  them." 

The  lady  whom  young  Barnes  had  greeted 
moved  toward  the  Englishmen,  followed  by 
her  brother. 

"I  didn't  know  we  were  to  meet  to-day," 
she  said  gaily,  with  a  mocking  look  at  Roger. 
"I  thought  you  said  you  were  bored  —  and  going 
back  to  New  York." 

Roger  was  relieved  to  see  that  his  uncle, 
engaged  in  shaking  hands  with  the  American 
officer,  had  not  heard  this  remark.  Tact  was 
certainly  not  Miss  Boyson's  strong  point. 

"I   am   sure   I   never  said   anything   of   the 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  15 

kind,"  he  said,  looking  brazenly  down  upon 
her;  "nothing  in  the  least  like  it." 

"Oh!  oh!"  the  lady  protested,  with  an 
extravagant  archness.  "Mrs.  Phillips,  this  is 
Mr.  Barnes.  We  were  just  talking  of  him, 
were  n't  we?" 

An  elderly  lady,  quietly  dressed  in  gray 
silk,  turned,  bowed,  and  looked  curiously  at 
the  Englishman. 

"I  hear  you  and  Miss  Boyson  discovered 
some  common  friends  last  night." 

"We  did,  indeed.  Miss  Boyson  posted  me 
up  in  a  lot  of  the  people  I  have  been  seeing  in 
New  York.  I  am  most  awfully  obliged  to 
her,"  said  Barnes.  His  manner  was  easy  and 
forthcoming,  the  manner  of  one  accustomed  to 
feel  himself  welcome  and  considered. 

"I  behaved  like  a  walking  'Who's  Who,' 
only  I  was  much  more  interesting,  and  did  n't 
tell  half  as  many  lies,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  high 
penetrating  voice.  "Daphne,  let  me  introduce 
you  to  Mr.  Barnes.  Mr.  Barnes  —  Miss  Floyd; 
Mr.  Barnes --Mrs.  Verrier." 

Two  ladies  beyond  Mrs.  Phillips  made  vague 
inclinations,  and  young  Barnes  raised  his  hat. 
The  whole  party  walked  on  up  the  hill.  The 
General  and  Captain  Boyson  fell  into  a  dis- 
cussion of  some  military  news  of  the  morning. 
Roger  Barnes  was  mostly  occupied  with  Miss 


16  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Boyson,  who  had  a  turn  for  monopoly;  and 
he  could  only  glance  occasionally  at  the  two 
ladies  with  Mrs.  Phillips.  But  he  was  conscious 
that  the  whole  group  made  a  distinguished 
appearance.  Among  the  hundreds  of  young 
women  streaming  over  the  lawn  they  were 
clearly  marked  out  by  their  carriage  and  their 
clothes  —  especially  their  clothes  —  as  belong- 
ing to  the  fastidious  cosmopolitan  class,  between 
whom  and  the  young  school-teachers  from  the 
West,  in  their  white  cotton  blouses,  leathern 
belts,  and  neat  short  skirts,  the  links  were  few. 
Miss  Floyd,  indeed,  was  dressed  with  great 
simplicity.  A  white  muslin  dress,  a  la  Romney, 
with  a  rose  at  the  waist,  and  a  black-and-white 
Romney  hat  deeply  shading  the  face  beneath  - 
nothing  could  have  been  plainer;  yet  it  was 
a  simplicity  not  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  a 
calculated,  a  Parisian  simplicity;  while  her 
companion,  Mrs.  Verrier,  was  attired  in  what 
the  fashion-papers  would  have  called  a  "creation 
in  mauve."  And  Roger  knew  quite  enough 
about  women's  dress  to  be  aware  that  it  was  a 
creation  that  meant  dollars.  She  was  a  tall, 
dark-eyed,  olive-skinned  woman,  thin  almost 
to  emaciation:  and  young  Barnes  noticed  that, 
while  Miss  Floyd  talked  much,  Mrs.  Verrier 
answered  little,  and  smiled  less.  She  moved 
with  a  languid  step,  and  looked  absently 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  17 

about  her.  Roger  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
whether  she  was  American  or  English. 

In  the  house  itself  the  crowd  was  almost 
unmanageable.  The  General's  ire  was  roused 
afresh  when  he  was  warned  off  the  front  door 
by  the  polite  official  on  guard,  and  made  to 
mount  a  back  stair  in  the  midst  of  a  panting 
multitude. 

"I  really  cannot  congratulate  you  on  your 
management  of  these  affairs,"  he  said  severely 
to  Captain  Boyson,  as  they  stood  at  last,  breath- 
less and  hustled,  on  the  first-floor  landing.  "It 
is  most  improper,  I  may  say  dangerous,  to 
admit  such  a  number  at  once.  And,  as  for 
seeing  the  house,  it  is  simply  impossible.  I 
shall  make  my  way  down  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  go  for  a  walk." 

Captain  Boyson  looked  perplexed.  General 
Hobson  was  a  person  of  eminence;  Washington 
had  been  very  civil  to  him;  and  the  American 
officer  felt  a  kind  of  host's  responsibility. 

"Wait  a  moment;  I  '11  try  and  find  some- 
body." He  disappeared,  and  the  party  main- 
tained itself  with  difficulty  in  a  corner  of  the 
landing  against  the  pressure  of  a  stream  of 
damsels,  who  crowded  to  the  open  doors  of 
the  rooms,  looked  through  the  gratings  which 
bar  the  entrance  without  obstructing  the  view, 
chattered,  and  moved  on.  General  Hobson 


18  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

stood  against  the  wall,  a  model  of  angry  patience. 
Cecilia  Boyson,  glancing  at  him  with  a  laughing 
eye,  said  in  Roger's  ear:  "How  sad  it  is  that 
your  uncle  dislikes  us  so!" 

"Us?     What  do  you  mean?" 

"That  he  hates  America  so.  Oh,  don't 
say  he  does  n't,  because  I  've  watched  him,  at 
one,  two,  three  parties.  He  thinks  we  're 
a  horrid,  noisy,  vulgar  people,  with  most 
unpleasant  voices,  and  he  thanks  God  for  the 
Atlantic  —  and  hopes  he  may  never  see  us 
again." 

"Well,  of  course,  if  you  're  so  certain  about 
it,  there  's  no  good  in  contradicting  you.  Did 
you  say  that  lady's  name  was  Floyd  ?  Could 
I  have  seen  her  last  week  in  New  York?" 

"Quite  possible.  Perhaps  you  heard  some- 
thing about  her?" 

"No,"  said  Barnes,  after  thinking  a  moment. 
"I  remember  —  somebody  pointed  her  out  at 
the  opera." 

His  companion  looked  at  him  with  a  kind 
of  hard  amusement.  Cecilia  Boyson  was  only 
five-and- twenty,  but  there  was  already  some- 
thing in  her  that  foretold  the  formidable  old 
maid. 

:<Well,  when  people  begin  upon  Daphne 
Floyd,"  she  said,  "they  generally  go  through 
with  it.  Ah!  here  comes  Alfred.' 


19 

Captain  Boyson,  pushing  his  way  through 
the  throng,  announced  to  his  sister  and  General 
Hobson  that  he  had  found  the  curator  in  charge 
of  the  house,  who  sent  a  message  by  him  to 
the  effect  that  if  only  the  party  would  wait  till 
four  o'clock,  the  official  closing  hour,  he  him- 
self would  have  great  pleasure  in  showing 
them  the  house  when  all  the  tourists  of  the  day 
had  taken  their  departure. 

"Then,"  said  Miss  Floyd,  smiling  at  the 
General,  "let  us  go  and  sit  in  the  garden,  and 
feel  ourselves  aristocratic  and  superior." 

The  General's  brow  smoothed.  Voice  and 
smile  were  alike  engaging.  Their  owner  was 
not  exactly  pretty,  but  she  had  very  large 
dark  eyes,  and  a  small  glowing  face,  set  in  a 
profusion  of  hair.  Her  neck,  the  General 
thought,  was  the  slenderest  he  had  ever  seen, 
and  the  slight  round  lines  of  her  form  spoke 
of  youth  in  its  first  delicate  maturity.  He 
followed  her  obediently,  and  they  were  all 
soon  in  the  garden  again,  and  free  of  the  crowd. 
Miss  Floyd  led  the  way  across  the  grass  with 
the  General. 

"Ah!  now  you  will  see  the  General  will 
begin  to  like  us,"  said  Miss  Boyson.  "Daphne 
has  got  him  in  hand." 

Her  tone  was  slightly  mocking.  Barnes 
observed  the  two  figures  in  front  of  them,  and 


20 

remarked  that  Miss  Floyd  had  a  "very  —  well  - 
a  very  foreign  look." 

"Not  English,  you  mean? — or  American? 
Well,  naturally.  Her  mother  was  a  Spaniard 
—  a  South  American  —  from  Buenos  Ayres. 
That 's  why  she  is  so  dark,  and  so  graceful." 

"I  never  saw  a  prettier  dress,"  said  Barnes, 
following  the  slight  figure  with  his  eyes.  "It  Js 
so  simple." 

His  companion  laughed  again.  The  manner 
of  the  laugh  puzzled  her  companion,  but,  just 
as  he  was  about  to  put  a  question,  the  General 
and  the  young  lady  paused  in  front,  to  let  the 
rest  of  the  party  come  up  with  them.  Miss 
Floyd  proposed  a  seat  a  little  way  down  the 
slope,  where  they  might  wait  the  half-hour 
appointed. 

That  half-hour  passed  quickly  for  all  con- 
cerned. In  looking  back  upon  it  afterwards 
two  of  the  party  were  conscious  that  it  had  all 
hung  upon  one  person.  Daphne  Floyd  sat 
beside  the  General,  who  paid  her  a  half-reluc- 
tant, half-fascinated  attention.  Without  any 
apparent  effort  on  her  part  she  became  indeed 
the  centre  of  the  group  who  sat  or  lay  on  the 
grass.  All  faces  were  turned  towards  her,  and 
presently  all  ears  listened  for  her  remarks. 
Her  talk  was  young  and  vivacious,  nothing 
more.  But  all  she  said  came,  as  it  were, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  21 

steeped  in  personality,  a  personality  so  ener- 
getic, so  charged  with  movement  and  with 
action  that  it  arrested  the  spectators  --  not 
always  agreeably.  It  wras  like  the  passage 
of  a  train  through  the  darkness,  when,  for 
the  moment,  the  quietest  landscape  turns  to 
fire  and  force. 

The  comparison  suggested  itself  to  Captain 
Boyson  as  he  lay  watching  her,  only  to  be 
received  with  an  inward  mockery,  half  bitter, 
half  amused.  This  girl  was  always  awakening 
in  him  these  violent  or  desperate  images.  Was 
it  her  fault  that  she  possessed  those  brilliant 
eyes — eyes,  as  it  seemed,  of  the  typical,  essential 
woman  ?  —  and  that  downy  brunette  skin,  with 
the  tinge  in  it  of  damask  red  ?  —  and  that 
instinctive  art  of  lovely  gesture  in  which  her 
whole  being  seemed  to  express  itself?  Boyson, 
who  was  not  only  a  rising  soldier,  but  an  excel- 
lent amateur  artist,  knew  every  line  of  the 
face  by  heart.  He  had  drawn  Miss  Daphne 
from  the  life  on  several  occasions;  and  from 
memory  scores  of  times.  He  was  not  likely  to 
draw  her  from  life  any  more;  and  thereby 
hung  a  tale.  As  far  as  he  was  concerned 
the  train  had  passed  —  in  flame  and  fury  — 
leaving  an  echoing  silence  behind  it. 

What  folly!  He  turned  resolutely  to  Mrs. 
Verrier,  and  tried  to  discuss  with  her  an 


22  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

exhibition  of  French  art  recently  opened  in 
Washington.  In  vain.  After  a  few  sentences, 
the  talk  between  them  dropped,  and  both  he 
and  she  were  once  more  watching  Miss  Floyd, 
and  joining  in  the  conversation  whenever  she 
chose  to  draw  them  in. 

As  for  Roger  Barnes,  he  too  was  steadily 
subjugated  —  up  to  a  certain  point.  He  was  not 
sure  that  he  liked  Miss  Floyd,  or  her  conver- 
sation. She  was  so  much  mistress  of  herself 
and  of  the  company,  that  his  masculine  vanity 
occasionally  rebelled.  A  little  flirt!  — that  gave 
herself  airs.  It  startled  his  English  mind  that 
at  twenty  —  for  she  could  be  no  more  —  a  girl 
should  so  take  the  floor,  and  hold  the  stage. 
Sometimes  he  turned  his  back  upon  her  - 
almost;  and  Cecilia  Boyson  held  him.  But,  if 
there  was  too  much  of  the  "eternal  womanly" 
in  Miss  Floyd,  there  was  not  enough  in  Cecilia 
Boyson.  He  began  to  discover  also  that  she 
was  too  clever  for  him,  and  was  in  fact  talking 
down  to  him.  Some  of  the  things  that  she  said 
to  him  about  New  York  and  Washington 
puzzled  him  extremely.  She  was,  he  sup- 
posed, intellectual;  but  the  intellectual  women 
in  England  did  not  talk  in  the  same  way. 
He  was  equal  to  them,  or  flattered  himself 
that  he  was;  but  Miss  Boyson  was  beyond 
him.  He  was  getting  into  great  difficulties 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  23 

with  her,  when  suddenly  Miss  Floyd  addressed 
him: 

"I  am  sure  I  saw  you  in  New  York,  at  the 

?>j 
i 

She  bent  over  to  him  as  she  spoke,  and 
lowered  her  voice.  Her  look  was  merry,  per- 
haps a  little  satirical.  It  put  him  on  his  guard. 

"Yes,  I  was  there.  You  wTere  pointed  out 
to  me." 

'You  were  with  some  old  friends  of  mine. 
I  suppose  they  gave  you  an  account  of  me?" 

"They  were  beginning  it;  but  then  Melba 
began  to  sing,  and  some  horrid  people  in  the 
next  box  said  'Hush!" 

She  studied  him  in  a  laughing  silence  a 
moment,  her  chin  on  her  hand,  then  said: 

"That  is   the  worst  of  the   opera;    it  stops 
so  much  interesting  conversation." 
'You  don't  care  for  the  music?" 

"Oh,  I  am  a  musician!"  she  said  quickly. 
"I  teach  it.     But  I  am  like  the  mad  King  of 
Bavaria  —  I  want  an  opera-house  to  myself." 
'You  teach  it?"  he  said,  in  amazement. 

She  nodded,  smiling.  At  that  moment  a 
bell  rang.  Captain  Boyson  rose. 

'That 's  the  signal  for  closing.     I  think  we 
ought  to  be  moving  up." 

They  strolled  slowly  towards  the  house, 
watching  the  stream  of  excursionists  pour 


24  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

out  of  the  house  and  gardens,  and  wind  down 
the  hill;  sounds  of  talk  and  laughter  filled  the 
air,  and  the  western  sun  touched  the  spring 
hats  and  dresses. 

"The  holidays  end  to-morrow,"  said  Daphne 
Floyd  demurely,  as  she  walked  beside  young 
Barnes.  And  she  looked  smiling  at  the  crowd 
of  young  women,  as  though  claiming  solidarity 
with  them. 

A  teacher?  A  teacher  of  music? --with 
that  self-confidence  --  that  air  as  though  the 
world  belonged  to  her!  The  young  man  was 
greatly  mystified.  But  he  reminded  himself 
that  he  was  in  a  democratic  country  where 
all  men  -  -  and  especially  all  women  -  -  are 
equal.  Not  that  the  young  women  now 
streaming  to  the  steamboat  were  Miss  Floyd's 
equals.  The  notion  was  absurd.  All  that 
appeared  to  be  true  wras  that  Miss  Floyd,  in 
any  circumstances,  would  be,  and  was,  the 
equal  of  anybody. 

"How  charming  your  friend  is!"  he  said 
presently  to  Cecilia  Boyson,  as  they  lingered  on 
the  veranda,  waiting  for  the  curator,  in  a  scene 
now  deserted.  "She  tells  me  she  is  a  teacher 
of  music." 

Cecilia  Boyson  looked  at  him  in  amazement, 
and  made  him  repeat  his  remark.  As  he  did 
so,  his  uncle  called  him,  and  he  turned  away. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  25 

Miss  Boyson  leant  against  one  of  the  pillars  of 
the  veranda,  shaking  with  suppressed  laughter. 
But  at  that  moment  the  curator,  a  gentle, 
gray-haired  man,  appeared,  shaking  hands  with 
the  General,  and  bowring  to  the  ladies.  He 
gave  them  a  little  discourse  on  the  house  and 
its  history,  as  they  stood  on  the  veranda; 
and  private  conversation  was  no  longer  possible. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  SUDDEN  hush  had  fallen  upon  Mount 
Vernon.  From  the  river  below  came  the 
distant  sounds  of  the  steamer,  which,  with  its 
crowds  safe  on  board,  was  now  putting  off  for 
Washington.  But  the  lawns  and  paths  of  the 
house,  and  the  formal  garden  behind  it,  and  all 
its  simple  rooms  upstairs  and  down,  were  now 
given  back  to  the  spring  and  silence,  save  for 
this  last  party  of  sightseers.  The  curator,  after 
his  preliminary  lecture  on  the  veranda,  took 
them  within;  the  railings  across  the  doors 
were  removed;  they  wandered  in  and  out  as 
they  pleased. 

Perhaps,  however,  there  were  only  two  persons 
among  the  six  now  following  the  curator  to 
whom  the  famous  place  meant  anything  more 
than  a  means  of  idling  away  a  warm  afternoon. 
General  Hobson  carried  his  white  head  proudly 
through  it,  saying  little  or  nothing.  It  was  the 
house  of  a  man  who  had  wrenched  half  a  con- 
tinent' from  Great  Britain;  the  English  Tory 
had  no  intention  whatever  of  bowing  the 
knee.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  the  house 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  27 

of  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman,  representing 
old  English  traditions,  tastes,  and  manners. 
No  modern  blatancy,  no  Yankee  smartness 
anywhere.  Simplicity  and  moderate  wealth, 
combined  with  culture  —  witness  the  books  of 
the  library  -  -  with  land-owning,  a  family  coach, 
and  church  on  Sundays:  these  things  the 
Englishman  understood.  Only  the  slaves,  in 
the  picture  of  Mount  Vernon's  past,  were 
strange  to  him. 

They  stood  at  length  in  the  death-chamber, 
with  its  low  white  bed,  and  its  balcony  over- 
looking the  river. 

"This,  ladies,  is  the  room  in  which  General 
Washington  died,"  said  the  curator,  patiently 
repeating  the  familiar  sentence.  "  It  is,  of  course, 
on  that  account  sacred  to  every  true  American." 

He  bowed  his  head  instinctively  as  he  spoke. 
The  General  looked  round  him  in  silence.  His 
eye  was  caught  by  the  old  hearth,  and  by  the 
iron  plate  at  the  back  of  it,  bearing  the  letters 
G.  W.  and  some  scroll  work.  There  flashed  into 
his  mind  a  vision  of  the  December  evening  on 
which  Washington  passed  away,  the  flames 
flickering  in  the  chimney,  the  winds  breathing 
round  the  house  and  over  the  snow-bound 
landscape  outside,  the  dying  man  in  that  white 
bed,  and  around  him,  hovering  invisibly,  the 
generations  of  the  future. 


28  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"He  was  a  traitor  to  his  king  and  country!" 
he  repeated  to  himself,  firmly.  Then  as  his 
patriotic  mind  was  not  disturbed  by  a  sense  of 
humour,  he  added  the  simple  reflection  - 
"But  it  is,  of  course,  natural  that  Americans 
should  consider  him  a  great  man." 

The  French  window  beside  the  bed  was 
thrown  open,  and  these  privileged  guests  were 
invited  to  step  on  to  the  balcony.  Daphne 
Floyd  was  handed  out  by  young  Barnes.  They 
hung  over  the  white  balustrade  together.  An 
evening  light  was  on  the  noble  breadth  of  river; 
its  surface  of  blue  and  gold  gleamed  through  the 
boughs  of  the  trees  which  girdled  the  house; 
blossoms  of  wild  cherry,  of  dogwood,  and 
magnolia  sparkled  amid  the  coverts  of  young 
green. 

Roger  Barnes  remarked,  with  sincerity,  as 
he  looked  about  him,  that  it  was  a  very  pretty 
place,  and  he  was  glad  he  had  not  missed  it. 
Miss  Floyd  made  an  absent  reply,  being  in  fact 
occupied  in  studying  the  speaker.  It  was,  so 
to  speak,  the  first  time  she  had  really  observed 
him;  and,  as  they  paused  on  the  balcony 
together,  she  was  suddenly  possessed  by  the 
same  impression  as  that  which  had  mollified  the 
General's  scolding  on  board  the  steamer.  He 
was  indeed  handsome,  the  young  Englishman! 
-  a  magnificent  figure  of  a  man,  in  height  and 


29 

breadth  and  general  proportions;  and  in  addi- 
tion, as  it  seemed  to  her,  possessed  of  an  absurd 
and  superfluous  beauty  of  feature.  What  does 
a  man  want  with  such  good  looks  ?  This  was 
perhaps  the  girl's  first  instinctive  feeling.  She 
was,  indeed,  a  little  dazzled  by  her  new  com- 
panion, now  that  she  began  to  realize  him. 
As  compared  with  the  average  man  in  Wash- 
ington or  New  York,  here  was  an  exception  - 
an  Apollo! — for  she  too  thought  of  the  Sun- 
god.  Miss  Floyd  could  not  remember  that 
she  had  ever  had  to  do  with  an  Apollo  before; 
young  Barnes,  therefore,  was  so  far  an  event, 
a  sensation.  In  the  opera-house  she  had  been 
vaguely  struck  by  a  handsome  face.  But  here, 
in  the  freedom  of  outdoor  dress  and  movement, 
he  seemed  to  her  a  physical  king  of  men;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  his  easy  manner  —  which,  how- 
ever, was  neither  conceited  nor  ill-bred  - 
showed  him  conscious  of  his  advantages. 

As  they  chatted  on  the  balcony  she  put 
him  through  his  paces  a  little.  He  had  been, 
it  seemed,  at  Eton  and  Oxford;  and  she  sup- 
posed that  he  belonged  to  the  rich  English 
world.  His  mother  was  a  Lady  Barnes;  his 
father,  she  gathered,  was  dead;  and  he  was 
travelling,  no  doubt,  in  the  lordly  English  way, 
to  get  a  little  knowledge  of  the  barbarians 
outside,  before  he  settled  down  to  his  own 


30  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

kingdom,  and  the  ways  thereof.  She  envisaged  a 
big  Georgian  house  in  a  spreading  park,  like 
scores  that  she  had  seen  in  the  course  of  motor- 
ing through  England  the  year  before. 

Meanwhile,  the  dear  young  man  was  evi- 
dently trying  to  talk  to  her,  without  too  much 
reference  to  the  gilt  gingerbread  of  this  world. 
He  did  not  wish  that  she  should  feel  herself 
carried  into  regions  where  she  was  not  at  home, 
so  that  his  conversation  ran  amicably  on  music. 
Had  she  learned  it  abroad  ?  He  had  a  cousin 
who  had  been  trained  at  Leipsic ;  was  n't 
teaching  it  trying  sometimes  —  when  people  had 
no  ear?  Delicious!  She  kept  it  up,  talking 
with  smiles  of  ''my  pupils"  and  "my  class," 
while  they  wandered  after  the  others  upstairs 
to  the  dark  low-roofed  room  above  the  death- 
chamber,  where  Martha  Washington  spent  the 
last  years  of  her  life,  in  order  that  from  the  high 
dormer  window  she  might  command  the  tomb 
on  the  slope  below,  where  her  dead  husband  lay. 
The  curator  told  the  well-known  story.  Mrs. 
Verrier,  standing  beside  him,  asked  some  ques- 
tions, showed  indeed  some  animation. 

"She  shut  herself  up  here?  She  lived  in 
this  garret  ?  That  she  might  always  see  the 
tomb?  That  is  really  true?" 

Barnes,  who  did  not  remember  to  have  heard 
her  speak  before,  turned  at  the  sound  of  her 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  31 

voice,  and  looked  at  her  curiously.  She  wore 
an  expression  —  bitter  or  incredulous  —  which, 
somehow,  amused  him.  As  they  descended 
again  to  the  garden  he  communicated  his 
amusement  —  discreetly -- to  Miss  Floyd. 

Did  Mrs.  Verrier  imply  that  no  one  who 
was  not  a  fool  could  show  her  grief  as  Mrs. 
Washington  did  ?  That  it  was,  in  fact,  a  sign 
of  being  a  fool  to  regret  your  husband?" 

"Did  she  say  that?"  asked  Miss  Floyd 
quickly. 

"Not  like  that,  of  course,  but  - 

They  had  now  reached  the  open  air  again, 
and  found  themselves  crossing  the  front  court 
to  the  kitchen-garden.  Daphne  Floyd  did  not 
wait  till  Roger  should  finish  his  sentence.  She 
turned  on  him  a  face  which  \vas  grave  if  not 
reproachful. 

"I  suppose  you  know  Mrs.  Verrier's  story?" 

"Why,  I  never  saw  her  before!  I  hope  I 
have  n't  said  anything  I  ought  n't  to  have  said  ?" 

"Everybody  knows  it  here,"  said  Daphne 
slowly.  "Mrs.  Verrier  married  three  years  ago. 
She  married  a  Jew  —  a  New  Yorker  —  who  had 
changed  his  name.  You  know  Jews  are  not 
in  what  we  call  'society '  over  here  ?  But 
Madeleine  thought  she  could  do  it;  she  was 
in  love  with  him,  and  she  meant  to  be  able 
to  do  without  society.  But  she  could  n't  do 


32  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

without  society;  and  presently  she  began  to  dine 
out,  and  go  to  parties  by  herself  -  -  he  urged  her 
to.  Then,  after  a  bit,  people  did  n't  ask  her  as 
much  as  before;  she  was  n't  happy;  and  her 
people  began  to  talk  to  him  about  a  divorce  - 
naturally  they  had  been  against  her  marrying 
him  all  along.  He  said  —  as  they  and  she 
pleased.  Then,  one  night  about  a  year  ago, 
he  took  the  train  to  Niagara  —  of  course  it  was 
a  very  commonplace  thing  to  do  —  and  two  days 
afterwards  he  was  found,  thrown  up  by  the  whirl- 
pool; you  know,  where  all  the  suicides  are 
found!" 

Barnes  stopped  short  in  front  of  his  com- 
panion, his  face  flushing. 

"What  a  horrible  story!"  he  said,  with 
emphasis. 

Miss  Floyd  nodded. 

"Yes,  poor  Madeleine  has  never  got  over  it." 

The  young  man  still  stood  riveted. 

"Of  course  Mrs.  Verrier  herself  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  talk  about  divorce  ?" 

Something  in  his  tone  roused  a  combative 
instinct  in  his  companion.  She,  too,  coloured, 
and  drew  herself  up. 

"Why  shouldn't  she?  She  was  miserable. 
The  marriage  had  been  a  great  mistake." 

"And  you  allow  divorce  for  that?"  said 
the  man,  wondering.  "Oh,  of  course  I  know 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  33 

every  State  is  different,  and  some  States  are 
worse  than  others.  But,  somehow,  I  never  came 
across  a  case  like  that  —  first  hand  --  before." 

He  walked  on  slowly  beside  his  companion, 
who  held  herself  a  little  stiffly. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should  talk  in  that 
way,"  she  said  at  last,  breaking  out  in  a  kind 
of  resentment,  "as  though  all  our  American 
views  are  wrong!  Each  nation  arranges  these 
things  for  itself.  You  have  the  laws  that  suit 
you;  you  must  allow  us  those  that  suit  us." 

Barnes  paused  again,  his  face  expressing 
a  still  more  complete  astonishment. 

"You  say  that?"  he  said.     "You!" 

"And  why  not?" 

"But  —  but  you  are  so  young!"  he  said, 
evidently  finding  a  difficulty  in  putting  his 
impressions.  "I  beg  your  pardon  —  I  ought 
not  to  talk  about  it  at  all.  But  it  was  so  odd 

1 1)!1 1 

"That  I  knew  anything  about  Mrs.  Verrier's 
affairs  ?"  said  Miss  Floyd,  with  a  rather  uncom- 
fortable laugh.  "Well,  you  see,  American  girls 
are  not  like  English  ones.  We  don't  pretend 
not  to  know  what  everybody  knows." 

"Of  course,"  said  Roger  hurriedly;  "but 
you  would  n't  think  it  a  fair  and  square  thing 
to  do?" 

"Think  what?" 


34  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

:'Why,  to  marry  a  man,  and  then  talk  of 
divorcing  him  because  people  did  n't  invite  you 
to  their  parties." 

"She  was  very  unhappy,"  said  Daphne 
stubbornly. 

"Well,  by  Jove!"  cried  the  young  man, 
"she  does  n't  look  very  happy  now!" 

"No,"  Miss  Floyd  admitted.  "No.  There 
are  many  people  who  think  she  '11  never  get 
over  it." 

"Well,  I  give  it  up."  The  Apollo  shrugged 
his  handsome  shoulders.  'You  say  it  was 
she  who  proposed  to  divorce  him  ?  —  yet  when 
the  wretched  man  removes  himself,  then  she 
breaks  her  heart!" 

"Naturally  she  did  n't  mean  him  to  do  it 
in  that  way,"  said  the  girl,  with  impatience. 
"Of  course  you  misunderstood  me  entirely!— 
entirely!1'  she  added  with  an  emphasis  which 
suited  with  her  heightened  colour  and  evidently 
ruffled  feelings. 

Young  Barnes  looked  at  her  with  embarrass- 
ment. What  a  queer,  hot-tempered  girl!  Yet 
there  was  something  in  her  which  attracted 
him.  She  was  graceful  even  in  her  impatience. 
Her  slender  neck,  and  the  dark  head  upon  it, 
her  little  figure  in  the  white  muslin,  her  dainty 
arms  and  hands  --  these  points  in  her  delighted 
an  honest  eye,  quite  accustomed  to  appraise 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  35 

the  charms  of  women.  But,  by  George!  she 
took  herself  seriously,  this  little  music-teacher. 
The  air  of  wilful  command  about  her,  the 
sharpness  with  which  she  had  just  rebuked  him, 
amazed  and  challenged  him. 

"I  am  very  sorry  if  I  misunderstood  you," 
he  said,  a  little  on  his  dignity;  "but  I  thought 
you- 

'You  thought  I  sympathized  with  Mrs. 
Verrier  ?  So  I  do ;  though  of  course  I  am 
awfully  sorry  that  such  a  dreadful  thing  hap- 
pened. But  you  '11  find,  Mr.  Barnes,  that 
American  girls  -  The  colour  rushed  into 

her  small  olive  cheeks.  "Well,  we  know  all 
about  the  old  ideas,  and  we  know  also  too 
well  that  there  's  only  one  life,  and  we  don't 
mean  to  have  that  one  spoilt.  The  old  notions 
of  marriage  — your  English  notions,"  cried  the 
girl  facing  him-  "make  it  tyranny!  Why 
should  people  stay  together  when  they  see  it 's 
a  mistake  ?  We  say  everybody  shall  have 
their  chance.  And  not  one  chance  only,  but 
more  than  one.  People  find  out  in  marriage 
what  they  could  n't  find  out  before,  and  so  - 

'You  let  them  chuck  it  just  when  they're 
tired  of  it?"  laughed  Barnes.  "And  what 
about  the  - 

"The  children?"  said  Miss  Floyd  calmly. 
"Well,  of  course,  that  has  to  be  very  carefully 


36  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

considered.     But  how  can  it  do  children  any 
good  to  live  in  an  unhappy  home?" 

"Had  Mrs.  Verrier  any  children?" 

"Yes,  one  little  girl." 

"I  suppose  she  meant  to  keep  her?" 

"Why,  of  course." 
.  "And  the  father  did  n't  care?" 

"Well,  I  believe  he  did,"  said  Daphne 
unwillingly.  'Yes,  that  was  very  sad.  He  was 
quite  devoted  to  her." 

"And  you  think  that's  all  right?"  Barnes 
looked  at  his  companion,  smiling. 

"Well,  of  course,  it  was  a  pity,"  she  said, 
with  fresh  impatience;  "I  admit  it  was  a  pity. 
But  then,  why  did  she  ever  marry  him  ?  That 
was  the  horrible  mistake." 

"I  suppose  she  thought  she  liked  him." 

"Oh,  it  was  he  who  was  so  desperately  in 
love  with  her.  He  plagued  her  into  doing  it." 

"Poor  devil!"  said  Barnes  heartily.  "All 
right,  we  're  coming." 

The  last  words  were  addressed  to  General 
Hobson,  waving  to  them  from  the  kitchen- 
garden.  They  hurried  on  to  join  the  curator, 
who  took  the  party  for  a  stroll  round  some  of 
the  fields  over  which  George  Washington,  in 
his  early  married  life,  was  accustomed  to  ride 
in  summer  and  winter  dawns,  inspecting  his 
negroes,  his  plantation,  and  his  barns.  The 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  37 

grass  in  these  Southern  fields  was  already  high; 
there  were  shining  fruit-trees,  blossom-laden, 
in  an  orchard  copse;  and  the  white  dogwood 
glittered  in  the  woods. 

For  two  people  to  whom  the  traditions  of 
the  place  were  dear,  this  quiet  walk  through 
Washington's  land  had  a  charm  far  beyond 
that  of  the  reconstructed  interior  of  the  house. 
Here  were  things  unaltered  and  unalterable, 
boundaries,  tracks,  woods,  haunted  still  by  the 
figure  of  the  young  master  and  bridegroom 
who  brought  Patsy  Curtis  there  in  1759.  To 
the  gray-haired  curator  every  foot  of  them 
was  sacred  and  familiar;  he  knew  these  fields 
and  the  records  of  them  better  than  any  detail 
of  his  own  personal  affairs;  for  years  now  he 
had  lived  in  spirit  with  Washington,  through 
all  the  hours  of  the  Mount  Vernon  day;  his 
life  was  ruled  by  one  great  ghost,  so  that  every- 
thing actual  was  comparatively  dim.  Boyson 
too,  a  fine  soldier  and  a  fine  intelligence,  had 
a  mind  stored  with  WTashingtoniana.  Every 
now  and  then  he  and  the  curator  fell  back 
on  each  other's  company.  They  knew  well 
that  the  others  were  not  worthy  of  their 
opportunity;  although  General  Hobson,  seeing 
that  most  of  the  memories  touched  belonged 
to  a  period  before  the  Revolution,  obeyed 
the  dictates  of  politeness,  and  made  amends 


38  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

for  his  taciturnity   indoors  by  a  talkative  vein 
outside. 

Captain  Boyson  was  not,  however,  wholly 
occupied  with  history  or  reminiscence.  He 
perceived  very  plainly  before  the  walk  was  over 
that  the  General's  good-looking  nephew  and 
Miss  Daphne  Floyd  were  interested  in  each 
other's  conversation.  When  they  joined  the 
party  in  the  garden  it  seemed  to  him  that  they 
had  been  disputing.  Miss  Daphne  was  flushed 
and  a  little  snappish  when  spoken  to;  and  the 
young  man  looked  embarrassed.  But  presently 
he  saw  that  they  gravitated  to  each  other,  and 
that,  whatever  chance  combination  might  be 
formed  during  the  walk,  it  always  ended  for  a 
time  in  the  flight  ahead  of  the  two  figures,  the 
girl  in  the  rose-coloured  sash  and  the  tall 
handsome  youth.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
walk  they  became  separated  from  the  rest  of 
the  party,  and  only  arrived  at  the  little  station 
just  in  time  before  the  cars  started.  On  this 
occasion  again,  they  had  been  clearly  arguing 
and  disagreeing;  and  Daphne  had  the  air 
of  a  ruffled  bird,  her  dark  eyes  glittering, 
her  mouth  set  in  the  obstinate  lines  that  Boyson 
knew  by  heart.  But  again  they  sat  together 
in  the  car,  and  talked  and  sparred  all  the  way 
home;  while  Mrs.  Verrier,  in  a  corner  of  the 
carriage,  shut  her  hollow  eyes,  and  laid  her 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  39 

thin  hands  one  over  the  other,  and  in  her  purple 
draperies  made  a  picture  a  la  Melisande  which 
was  not  lost  upon  her  companions.  Boyson's 
mind  registered  a  good  many  grim  or  terse 
comments,  as  occasionally  he  found  himself 
watching  this  lady.  Scarcely  a  year  since  that 
hideous  business  at  Niagara,  and  here  she  was 
in  that  extravagant  dress!  He  wished  his 
sister  would  not  make  a  friend  of  her,  and  that 
Daphne  Floyd  saw  less  of  her.  Miss  Daphne 
had  quite  enough  bees  in  her  own  bonnet  without 
adopting  Mrs.  Verrier's. 

Meanwhile,  it  was  the  General  who,  on  the 
return  journey,  was  made  to  serve  Miss  Boyson's 
gift  for  monopoly.  She  took  possession  of  him 
in  a  business-like  way,  inquiring  into  his  engage- 
ments in  Washington,  his  particular  friends, 
his  opinion  of  the  place  and  the  people,  with 
a  light-handed  acuteness  which  was  more  than 
a  match  for  the  Englishman's  instincts  of 
defence.  The  General  did  not  mean  to  give 
himself  away;  he  intended,  indeed,  precisely 
the  contrary;  but,  after  every  round  of  con- 
versation Miss  Boyson  felt  herself  more  and 
more  richly  provided  with  materials  for  satire 
at  the  expense  of  England  and  the  English 
tourist,  his  invincible  conceit,  insularity,  and 
condescension.  She  was  a  clever  though  tire- 
some woman;  and  expressed  herself  best  in 


40  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

letters.  She  promised  herself  to  write  a  "char- 
acter" of  General  Hobson  in  her  next  letter 
to  an  intimate  friend,  which  should  be  a  master- 
piece. Then,  having  led  him  successfully 
through  the  role  of  the  comic  Englishman  abroad, 
she  repaid  him  with  information.  She  told  him, 
not  without  some  secret  amusement  at  the 
reprobation  it  excited,  the  tragic  story  of  Mrs. 
Verrier.  She  gave  him  a  full  history  of  her 
brother's  honourable  and  brilliant  career;  and 
here  let  it  be  said  that  the  precieuse  in  her  gave 
way  to  the  sister,  and  that  she  talked  with 
feeling.  And  finally  she  asked  him  with  a  smile 
whether  he  admired  Miss  Floyd.  The  General, 
who  had  in  fact  been  observing  Miss  Floyd  and 
his  nephew  with  some  little  uneasiness  during 
the  preceding  half-hour,  replied  guardedly  that 
Miss  Floyd  was  pretty  and  picturesque,  and 
apparently  a  great  talker.  Was  she  a  native 
of  Washington  ? 

'  You    never    heard    of    Miss    Floyd  ?  —  of 
Daphne   Floyd?     No?     Ah,    well!"— and    she 
laughed-    "I  suppose  I  ought  to  take  it  as  a 
compliment,   of   a   kind.     There   are   so   many 
rich  people  now  in  this  queer  country  of  ours 
that  even  Daphne  Floyds  don't  matter." 
"Is  Miss  Floyd  so  tremendously  rich?" 
General   Hobson   turned   a   quickened   coun- 
tenance upon  her,  expressing  no  more  than  the 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  41 

interest  felt  by  the  ordinary  man  in  all  societies 
-  more  strongly,  perhaps,  at  the  present  day 
than  ever  before  —  in  the  mere  fact  of  money. 
But  Miss  Boyson  gave  it  at  once  a  personal 
meaning,  and  set  herself  to  play  on  what  she 
scornfully  supposed  to  be  the  cupidity  of  the 
Englishman.  She  produced,  indeed,  a  full  and 
particular  account  of  Daphne  Floyd's  parentage, 
possessions,  and  prospects,  during  which  the 
General's  countenance  represented  him  with 
great  fidelity.  A  trace  of  recalcitrance  at  the 
beginning  —  for  it  was  his  opinion  that  Miss 
Boyson,  like  most  American  women,  talked 
decidedly  too  much  —  gave  way  to  close  atten- 
tion, then  to  astonishment,  and  finally  to  a 
very  animated  observation  of  Miss  Floyd's 
slender  person  as  she  sat  a  yard  or  two  from 
him  on  the  other  side  of  the  car,  laughing, 
frowning,  or  chattering  with  Roger. 

"And  that  poor  child  has  the  management 
of  it  all?"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  tone  which  did 
him  credit.  He  himself  had  lost  an  only 
daughter  at  twenty-one,  and  he  held  old- 
fashioned  views  as  to  the  helplessness  of  women. 

But  Cecilia  Boyson  again  misunderstood  him. 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  said,  with  a  cool  smile. 
"Everything  is  in  her  own  hands  —  everything! 
Mrs.  Phillips  would  not  dare  to  interfere. 
Daphne  always  has  her  own  way." 


42  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

The  General  said  no  more.  Cecilia  Boyson 
looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  darkening 

o 

landscape,  thinking  with  malice  of  Daphne's 
dealings  with  the  male  sex.  It  had  been  a 
Sleeping  Beauty  story  so  far.  Treasure  for 
the  winning  —  a  thorn  hedge  —  and  slain  lovers ! 
The  handsome  Englishman  would  try  it  next, 
no  doubt.  All  young  Englishmen,  according  to 
her,  were  on  the  look-out  for  American  heiresses. 
Music  teacher  indeed!  She  would  have  given 
a  good  deal  to  hear  the  conversation  of  the 
uncle  and  nephew  when  the  party  broke  up. 

The  General  and  young  Barnes  made  their 
farewells  at  the  railway  station,  and  took  their 
way  on  foot  to  their  hotel.  Washington  was 
steeped  in  sunset.  The  White  House,  as  they 
passed  it,  glowed  amid  its  quiet  trees.  Lafayette 
Square,  with  its  fountains  and  statues,  its  white 
and  pink  magnolias,  its  strolling,  chatting 
crowd,  the  fronts  of  the  houses,  the  long  vistas 
of  tree-lined  avenues,  the  street  cars,  the  houses, 
the  motors,  all  the  openings  and  distances  of 
the  beautiful,  leisurely  place  --  they  saw  them 
rosily  transfigured  under  a  departing  sun, 
which  throughout  the  day  had  been  weaving 
the  quick  spells  of  a  southern  spring. 

"Jolly  weather!"  said  Roger,  looking  about 
him.  "And  a  very  nice  afternoon.  How  long 
are  you  staying  here,  Uncle  Archie  ?" 


43 

"I  ought  to  be  off  at  the  end  of  the  week; 
and  of  course  you  want  to  get  back  to  New 
York  ?  I  say,  you  seemed  to  be  getting  on 
with  that  young  lady?" 

The  General  turned  a  rather  troubled  eye 
upon  his  companion. 

"She  wasn't  bad  fun,"  said  the  young  man 
graciously;  "but  rather  an  odd  little  thing! 
We  quarrelled  about  every  conceivable  subject. 
And  it 's  queer  how  much  that  kind  of  girl 
seems  to  go  about  in  America.  She  goes  every- 
where and  knows  everything.  I  wonder  how 
she  manages  it." 

"What  kind  of  girl  do  you  suppose  she  is?" 
asked  the  General,  stopping  suddenly  in  the 
middle  of  Lafayette  Square. 

"She  told  me  she  taught  singing,"  said 
Roger,  in  a  puzzled  voice,  "to  a  class  of  girls 
in  New  York." 

The  General  laughed. 

"She  seems  to  have  made  a  fool  of  you,  my 
dear  boy.  She  is  one  of  the  great  heiresses  of 
America." 

Roger's  face  expressed  a  proper  astonishment. 

"Oh!  that's  it,  is  it?  I  thought  once  or 
twice  there  was  something  fishy  —  she  was  trying 
it  on.  Who  told  you?" 

The  General  retailed  his  information.  Miss 
Daphne  Floyd  was  the  orphan  daughter  of  an 


44  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

enormously  rich  and  now  deceased  lumber-king, 
of  the  State  of  Illinois.  He  had  made  vast 
sums  by  lumbering,  and  then  invested  in  real 
estate  in  Chicago  and  Buffalo,  not  to  speak  of 
a  railway  or  two,  and  had  finally  left  his  daughter 
and  only  child  in  possession  of  a  fortune  generally 
estimated  at  more  than  a  million  sterling.  The 
money  was  now  entirely  in  the  girl's  power.  Her 
trustees  had  been  sent  about  their  business, 
though  Miss  Floyd  was  pleased  occasionally  to 
consult  them.  Mrs.  Phillips,  her  chaperon,  had 
not  much  influence  with  her;  and  it  was  sup- 
posed that  Mrs.  Verrier  advised  her  more 
than  anyone  else. 

"Good  heavens!"  was  all  that  young  Barnes 
could  find  to  say  when  the  story  was  told. 
He  walked  on  absently,  flourishing  his  stick, 
his  face  working  under  the  stress  of  amused 
meditation.  At  last  he  brought  out: 

"You  know,  Uncle  Archie,  if  you  'd  heard 
some  of  the  things  Miss  Floyd  was  saying  to 
me,  your  hair  would  have  stood  on  end." 

The  General  raised  his  shoulders. 

"I  dare  say.  I'm  too  old-fashioned  for 
America.  The  sooner  I  clear  out  the  better. 
Their  newspapers  make  me  sick;  I  hate  the 
hotels  —  I  hate  the  cooking;  and  there  is  n't  a 
nation  in  Europe  I  don't  feel  myself  more  at 
home  with.'! 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  45 

Roger  laughed  his  clear,  good-tempered 
laugh.  "Oh!  I  don't  feel  that  way  at  all. 
I  get  on  with  them  capitally.  They  're  a 
magnificent  people.  And,  as  to  Miss  Floyd, 
I  did  n't  mean  anything  bad,  of  course.  Only 
the  ideas  some  of  the  girls  here  have,  and  the 
way  they  discuss  them  —  well,  it  beats  me!" 

"What  sort  of  ideas?" 

Roger's  handsome  brow  puckered  in  the 
effort  to  explain.  "They  don't  think  anything  's 
settled.,  you  know,  as  we  do  at  home.  Miss 
Floyd  does  n't.  They  think  they  've  got  to  settle 
a  lot  of  things  that  English  girls  don't  trouble 
about,  because  they  're  just  told  to  do  'em,  or 
not  to  do  'em,  by  the  people  that  look  after 
them!" 

''Everything  hatched  over  again,  and 
hatched  different,' "  said  the  General,  who  was 
an  admirer  of  George  Eliot;  "that 's  what 
they  'd  like,  eh?  Pooh!  That  's  when  they  're 
young.  They  quiet  down,  like  all  the  rest  of 
the  world." 

Barnes  shook  his  head.  "But  they  are 
hatching  it  over  again.  You  meet  people  here 
in  society  you  could  n't  meet  at  home.  And 
it 's  all  right.  The  law  backs  them  up." 

'You're  talking  about  divorce!"  said  the 
General.  "Aye!  it's  astounding!  The  tales 
one  hears  in  the  smoking-room  after  dinner! 


46  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

In  Wyoming,  apparently,  six  months'  residence, 
and  there  you  are.  You  prove  a  little  cruelty, 
the  husband  makes  everything  perfectly  easy, 
you  say  a  civil  good-bye,  and  the  thing 's  done. 
Well,  they  '11  pay  for  it,  my  dear  Roger  —  they  '11 
pay  for  it.  Nobody  ever  yet  trifled  with  the 
marriage  law  with  impunity." 

The  energy  of  the  old  man's  bearing  became 
him. 

Through  Roger's  mind  the  thought  flashed: 
"Poor  dear  Uncle  Archie!  If  he  'd  been  a 
New  Yorker  he  'd  never  have  put  up  with  Aunt 
Lavinia  for  thirty  years!" 

They  turned  into  their  hotel,  and  ordered 
dinner  in  an  hour's  time.  Roger  found  some 
English  letters  waiting  for  him,  and  carried 
them  off  to  his  room.  He  opened  his  mother's 
first.  Lady  Barnes  wrote  a  large  and  straggling 
hand,  which  required  many  sheets  and  much 
postage.  It  might  have  been  observed  that 
her  son  looked  at  the  sheets  for  a  minute,  with 
a  certain  distaste,  before  he  began  upon  them. 
Yet  he  was  deeply  attached  to  his  mother,  and 
it  was  from  her  letters  week  by  week  that  he 
took  his  marching  orders.  If  she  only  would  n't 
ride  her  ideas  quite  so  hard;  if  she  would 
sometimes  leave  him  alone  to  act  for  himself! 

Here  it  was  again  --  the  old  story: 

"Don't    suppose  I  put    these    things  before 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  47 

you  on  my  account.  No,  indeed;  what  does 
it  matter  what  happens  to  me  ?  It  is  when  I 
think  that  you  may  have  to  spend  your  whole 
life  as  a  clerk  in  a  bank,  unless  you  rouse  your- 
self now  —  (for  you  know,  my  dear  Roger, 
though  you  have  very  good  wits,  you  're  not 
as  frightfully  clever  as  people  have  to  be  nowa- 
days) —  that  I  begin  to  despair.  But  that  is 
entirely  in  your  own  hands.  You  have  what  is 
far  more  valuable  than  cleverness  --you  have  a 
delightful  disposition,  and  you  are  one  of  the 
handsomest  of  men.  TJ^re!  of  course,  I  know 
you  would  n't  let  me  say  it  to  you  in  your 
presence;  but  it 's  true  all  the  same.  Any  girl 
should  be  proud  to  marry  you.  There  are  plenty 
of  rich  girls  in  America;  and  if  you  play  your 
cards  properly  you  will  make  her  and  yourself 
happy.  The  grammar  of  that  is  not  quite  right, 
but  you  understand  me.  Find  a  nice  girl  —  of 
course  a  nice  girl  -  -  with  a  fortune  large  enough 
to  put  you  back  in  your  proper  sphere;  and  it 
does  n't  matter  about  me.  You  will  pay  my 
rent,  I  dare  say,  and  help  me  through  when  I 
want  it;  but  that 's  nothing.  The  point  is, 
that  I  cannot  submit  to  your  career  being 
spoiled  through  your  poor  father's  mad  impru- 
dence. You  must  retrieve  yourself  --you  must. 
Nobody  is  anything  nowadays  in  the  world  with- 
out money;  you  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  And 


48  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

besides,  there  is  another  reason.  You  have 
got  to  forget  the  affair  of  last  spring,  to  put  it 
entirely  behind  you,  to  show  that  horrid  woman 
who  threw  you  over  that  you  will  make  your 
life  a  success  in  spite  of  her.  Rouse  yourself, 
my  dear  Roger,  and  do  your  best.  I  hope  by 
now  you  have  forwarded  all  my  introductions  ? 
You  have  your  opportunity,  and  I  must  say 
you  will  be  a  great  fool  if  you  don't  use  it. 
Do  use  it  my  dear  boy,  for  my  sake.  I  am  a  very 
unhappy  woman;  but  you  might,  if  you  would, 
bring  back  a  little  brightness  to  my  life." 

After  he  had  read  the  letter,  young  Barnes 
sat  for  some  time  in  a  brown  study  on  the  edge 
of  his  bed.  The  letter  contained  only  one  more 
repetition  of  counsels  that  had  been  dinned  into 
his  ears  for  months  —  almost  ever  since  the 
financial  crash  which  had  followed  his  father's 
death,  and  the  crash  of  another  sort,  concerning 
himself,  which  had  come  so  quick  upon  it. 
His  thoughts  returned,  as  they  always  did  at 
some  hour  of  the  day  or  night,  to  the  "horrid 
woman."  Yes,  that  had  hit  him  hard;  the 
lad's  heart  still  throbbed  with  bitterness  as  he 
thought  of  it.  He  had  never  felt  anything  so 
much;  he  did  n't  believe  he  should  ever  mind 
anything  so  much  again.  "I  'm  not  one  of  your 
sentimental  sort,"  he  thought,  half  congratulat- 
ing himself,  half  in  self-contempt.  But  he 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  49 

could  not  get  her  out  of  his  head;  he  wondered 
if  he  ever  should.  And  it  had  gone  pretty  far 
too.  By  Jove!  that  night  in  the  orchard !- 
when  she  had  kissed  him,  and  thrown  her  arms 
round  his  neck!  And  then  to  write  him  that 
letter,  when  things  were  at  their  worst.  She 
might  have  done  the  thing  decently.  Have 
treated  a  fellow  kindly  at  least.  Well,  of  course, 
it  was  all  done  with.  Yes,  it  was.  Done  with! 

He  got  up  and  began  to  pace  his  small 
room,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  thinking  of 
the  night  in  the  orchard.  Then  gradually  the 
smart  lessened,  and  his  thoughts  passed  away 
to  other  things.  That  little  Yankee  girl  had 
really  made  good  sport  all  the  way  home.  He 
had  not  been  dull  for  a  moment;  she  had  teased 
and  provoked  him  so.  Her  eyes,  too,  were 
wonderfully  pretty,  and  her  small,  pointed 
chin,  and  her  witch-like  imperious  ways.  Was 
it  her  money,  the  sense  that  she  could  do  as 
she  liked  with  most  people,  that  made  her  so 
domineering  and  masterful  ?  Very  likely.  On 
the  journey  he  had  put  it  down  just  to  a  natural 
and  very  surprising  impudence.  That  was 
when  he  believed  that  she  was  a  teacher,  earning 
her  bread.  But  the  impudence  had  not  pre- 
vented him  from  finding  it  much  more  amusing 
to  talk  to  her  than  to  anybody  else. 

And,  on  the  whole,  he  thought  she  had  not 


50  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

disliked  him,  though  she  had  said  the  rudest 
things  to  him,  and  he  had  retaliated.  She  had 
asked  him,  indeed,  to  join  them  in  an  excursion 
the  following  day,  and  to  tea  at  the  Country 
Club.  He  had  meant,  if  possible,  to  go  back 
to  New  York  on  the  morrow.  But  perhaps  a 
day  or  two  longer  - 

So  she  had  a  million  --  the  little  sprite  ?  She 
was  and  \vould  be  a  handful !  -  -  with  a  fortune 
or  without  it.  And  possessed  also  of  the  most 
extraordinary  opinions.  But  he  thought  he 
would  go  on  the  excursion,  and  to  the  Country 
Club.  He  began  to  fold  his  mother's  letter, 
and  put  it  back  into  its  envelope,  while  a  slight 
flush  mounted  in  his  cheeks,  and  the  young 
mouth  that  was  still  so  boyish  and  candid  took 
a  stiffer  line. 


IS  Miss  Floyd  at  home?" 
The    questioner    was    Mrs.   Verrier,    who 
had  just  alighted  from  her  carriage  at  the  door  of 
the   house   in   Columbia   Avenue   inhabited   by 
Miss  Floyd  and  her  chaperon. 

The  maid  replied  that  Miss  Floyd  had  not 
yet  returned,  but  had  left  a  message  begging 
Mrs.  Verrier  to  wait  for  her.  The  visitor  was 
accordingly  ushered  to  the  drawing-room  on 
the  first  floor. 

This  room,  the  staircase,  the  maid,  all  bore 
witness  to  Miss  Floyd's  simplicity  -  -  like  the 
Romney  dress  of  Mount  Vernon.  The  colour 
of  the  walls  and  the  hangings,  the  lines  of  the 
furniture,  were  all  subdued,  even  a  little  austere. 
Quiet  greens  and  blues,  mingled  with  white, 
showed  the  artistic  mind;  the  chairs  and  sofas 
were  a  trifle  stiff  and  straight  legged;  the 
electric  fittings  were  of  a  Georgian  plainness  to 
match  the  Colonial  architecture  of  the  house; 
the  beautiful  self-coloured  carpet  was  indeed 
Persian  and  costly,  but  it  betrayed  its  costliness 
only  to  the  expert.  Altogether,  the  room,  one 
would  have  said,  of  any  bourse  moyenne,  with 

51 


52  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

an  eye  for  beauty.  Fine  photographs  also,  of 
Italian  and  Dutch  pictures,  suggested  travel, 
and  struck  the  cultivated  cosmopolitan  note. 

Mrs.  Verrier  looked  round  it  with  a  smile. 
It  was  all  as  unpretending  as  the  maid  who 
ushered  her  upstairs.  Daphne  would  have  no 
men-servants  in  her  employ.  What  did  two 
ladies  want  with  them,  in  a  democratic  country  ? 
But  Mrs.  Verrier  happened  to  know  that 
Daphne's  maid-servants  were  just  as  costly  in 
their  degree  as  the  drawing-room  carpet. 
Chosen  for  her  in  London  with  great  care, 
attracted  to  Washington  by  enormous  wages, 
these  numerous  damsels  played  their  part  in  the 
general  "simplicity"  effect;  but  on  the  whole 
Mrs.  Verrier  believed  that  Daphne's  household 
was  rather  more  expensive  than  that  of  other  rich 
people  who  employed  men. 

She  walked  through  the  room,  looking 
absently  at  the  various  photographs  and  engrav- 
ings, till  her  attention  was  excited  by  an  easel 
and  a  picture  upon  it  in  the  back  drawing- 
room.  She  went  up  to  it  with  a  muttered 
exclamation. 

"So  she  bought  it!     Daphne's  amazing!" 

For  what  she  saw  before  her  was  a  master- 
piece —  an    excessively    costly    masterpiece  - 
of    the    Florentine    school,    smuggled    out    of 
Italy,  to  the  wrath  of  the  Italian  Government, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  53 

some  six  months  before  this  date,  and  since  then 
lost  to  general  knowledge.  Rumour  had  given 
it  first  to  a  well-known  collection  at  Boston; 
then  to  another  at  Philadelphia;  yet  here  it 
was  in  the  possession  of  a  girl  of  two-and- 
twenty  of  wrhom  the  great  world  was  just  - 
but  only  just  —  beginning  to  talk. 

"How  like  Daphne!"  thought  her  friend 
with  malice.  The  "simple"  room,  and  the 
priceless  picture  carelessly  placed  in  a  corner 
of  it,  lest  any  one  should  really  suppose  that 
Daphne  Floyd  was  an  ordinary  mortal. 

Mrs.  Verrier  sat  down  at  last  in  a  chair 
fronting  the  picture  and  let  herself  fall  into  a 
reverie.  On  this  occasion  she  was  dressed  in 
black.  The  lace  strings  of  a  hat  crowned  with 
black  ostrich  feathers  were  fastened  under  her 
chin  by  a  diamond  that  sparkled  in  the  dim 
greenish  light  of  the  drawing-room;  the  feathers 
of  the  hat  were  unusually  large  and  drooping; 
they  curled  heavily  round  the  thin  neck  and 
long,  hollow-eyed  face,  so  that  its  ivory  whiteness, 
its  fatigue,  its  fretful  beauty  were  framed  in 
and  emphasized  by  them;  her  bloodless  hands 
lay  upon  her  lap,  and  the  folds  of  the  sweeping 
dress  drawrn  round  her  showed  her  slenderness, 
or  rather  her  emaciation.  Two  years  before 
this  date  Madeleine  Verrier  had  been  a  great 
beauty,  and  she  had  never  yet  reconciled  herself 


,54  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

to  physical  losses  which  were  but  the  outward 
and  visible  sign  of  losses  "far  more  deeply 
interfused."  As  she  sat  apparently  absorbed 
in  thought  before  the  picture,  she  moved,  half 
consciously,  so  that  she  could  no  longer  see 
herself  in  a  mirror  opposite. 

Yet  her  thoughts  were  in  truth  much  engaged 
with  Daphne  and  Daphne's  proceedings.  It 
was  now  nearly  three  weeks  since  Roger  Barnes 
had  appeared  on  the  horizon.  General  Hobson 
had  twice  postponed  his  departure  for  England, 
and  was  still  "enduring  hardness"  in  a  Wash- 
ington hotel.  Why  his  nephew  should  not  be 
allowed  to  manage  his  courtship,  if  it  was 
a  courtship,  for  himself,  Mrs.  Verrier  did  not 
understand.  There  was  no  love  lost  between 
herself  and  the  General,  and  she  made  much 
mock  of  him  in  her  talks  with  Daphne.  How- 
ever, there  he  was;  and  she  could  only  suppose 
that  he  took  the  situation  seriously  and  felt 
bound  to  watch  it  in  the  interests  of  the  young 
man's  absent  mother. 

Was  it  serious  ?  Certainly  Daphne  had  been 
committing  herself  a  good  deal.  The  question 
was  whether  she  had  not  been  committing  herself 
more  than  the  young  man  had  been  doing  on 
his  side.  That  was  the  astonishing  part  of  it. 
Mrs.  Verrier  could  not  sufficiently  admire  the 
skill  with  which  Roger  Barnes  had  so  far 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  55 

played  his  part;  could  not  sufficiently  ridicule 
her  own  lack  of  insight,  which  at  her  first  meet- 
ing \vith  him  had  pronounced  him  stupid. 
Stupid  he  might  be  in  the  sense  that  it  was  of 
no  use  to  expect  from  him  the  kind  of  talk  on 
books,  pictures,  and  first  principles  which 
prevailed  in  Daphne's  circle.  But  Mrs.  Verrier 
thought  she  had  seldom  come  across  a  finer 
sense  of  tactics  than  young  Barnes  had  so  far 
displayed  in  his  dealings  with  Daphne.  If  he 
went  on  as  he  had  begun,  the  probability  was 
that  he  would  succeed. 

Did  she,  Madeleine  Verrier,  wish  him  to 
succeed  ? 

Daphne  had  grown  tragically  necessary  to 
her,  in  this  world  of  American  society  --in  that 
section  of  it,  at  any  rate,  in  which  she  desired  to 
move,  where  the  widow  of  Leopold  Verrier 
was  always  conscious  of  the  blowing  of  a  cold 
and  hostile  breath.  She  was  not  excluded, 
but  she  was  not  welcome;  she  was  not  ostra- 
cized, but  she  had  lost  consideration.  There 
had  been  something  picturesque  and  appealing 
in  her  husband;  something  unbearably  tragic 
in  the  manner  of  his  death.  She  had  braved 
it  out  by  staying  in  America,  instead  of  losing 
herself  in  foreign  towns;  and  she  had  thereby 
proclaimed  that  she  had  no  guilty  sense  of 
responsibility,  no  burden  on  her  conscience; 


56  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

that  she  had  only  behaved  as  a  thousand  other 
women  would  have  behaved,  and  without  any 
cruel  intention  at  all.  But  she  knew  all  the 
same  that  the  spectators  of  what  had  happened 
held  her  for  a  cruel  woman,  and  that  there  were 
many,  and  those  the  best,  who  saw  her  come 
with  distaste  and  go  without  regret;  and  it  was 
under  that  knowledge,  in  spite  of  indomitable 
pride,  that  her  beauty  had  withered  in  a  year. 
And  at  the  moment  when  the  smart  of 
what  had  happened  to  her  —  personally  and 
socially -- was  at  its  keenest;  when,  after  a 
series  of  quarrels,  she  had  separated  herself 
from  the  imperious  mother  who  had  been  her 
evil  genius  throughout  her  marriage,  she  had 
made  friends,  unexpectedly,  owing  to  a  chance 
meeting  at  a  picture-gallery,  with  Daphne 
Floyd.  Some  element  in  Daphne's  nature  had 
attracted  and  disarmed  her.  The  proud,  fas- 
tidious woman  had  given  the  girl  her  confi- 
dence —  eagerly,  indiscriminately.  She  had 
poured  out  upon  her  all  that  wild  philosophy 
of  "rights"  which  is  still  struggling  in  the 
modern  mind  with  a  crumbling  ethic  and  a 
vanishing  religion.  And  she  had  found  in 
Daphne  a  warm  and  passionate  ally.  Daphne 
was  nothing  if  not  "advanced."  She  shrank, 
as  Roger  Barnes  had  perceived,  from  no  ques- 
tion; she  had  never  been  forbidden,  had  never 


57 

forbidden  herself,  any  book  that  she  had  a 
fancy  to  read;  and  she  was  as  ready  to  discuss 
the  relative  divorce  laws  of  Massachusetts  and 
Pennsylvania,  as  the  girls  of  fifty  years  ago 
were  to  talk  of  the  fashions,  or  "Evangeline." 
In  any  disputed  case,  moreover,  between  a  man 
and  a  woman,  Daphne  was  hotly  and  instinc- 
tively on  the  side  of  the  woman.  She  had 
thrown  herself,  therefore,  with  ardour  into  the 
defence  of  Mrs.  Verrier;  and  for  her  it  was  not 
the  wife's  desertion,  but  the  husband's  suicide 
which  had  been  the  cruel  and  indefensible  thing. 
All  these  various  traits  and  liberalisms  had  made 
her  very  dear  to  Madeleine  Verrier. 

Now,  as  that  lady  sat  in  her  usual  drooping 
attitude,  wondering  what  Washington  would 
be  like  for  her  when  even  Daphne  Floyd  was 
gone  from  it,  the  afternoon  sun  stole  through 
the  curtains  of  the  window  on  the  street  and 
touched  some  of  the  furniture  and  engravings 
in  the  inner  drawing-room.  Suddenly  Mrs. 
Verrier  started  in  her  chair.  A  face  had  emerged 
thrown  out  upon  the  shadows  by  the  sun-finger 
-  the  countenance  of  a  handsome  young  Jew, 
as  Rembrandt  had  once  conceived  it.  Rare 
and  high  intelligence,  melancholy,  and  pre- 
monition:—  they  were  there  embodied,  so  long 
as  the  apparition  lasted. 

The  effect  on  Mrs.   Verrier  was  apparently 


<58  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

profound.  She  closed  her  eyes;  her  lips  quiv- 
ered ;  she  leaned  back  feebly  in  her  chair,  breath- 
ing a  name.  The  crisis  lasted  a  few  minutes, 
while  the  momentary  vision  faded  and  the  sun- 
light crept  on.  The  eyelids  unclosed  at  last, 
slowly  and  painfully,  as  though  shrinking  from 
what  might  greet  the  eyes  beneath  them.  But 
the  farther  wall  was  now  in  deep  shade.  Mrs. 
Verrier  sat  up ;  the  emotion  which  had  mastered 
lier  like  a  possession  passed  away;  and  rising 
hurriedly,  she  went  back  to  the  front  drawing- 
room.  She  had  hardly  reached  it  when  Miss 
Floyd's  voice  was  heard  upon  the  stairs. 

Daphne  entered  the  room  in  what  appeared 
to  be  a  fit  of  irritation.  She  was  scolding  the 
parlour-maid,  whose  high  colour  and  dignified 
silence  proclaimed  her  both  blameless  and 
long-suffering.  At  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Verrier 
Daphne  checked  herself  with  an  effort  and 
kissed  her  friend  rather  absently. 

"Dear  Madeleine! -- very  good  of  you  to 
wait.  Have  they  given  you  tea?  I  suppose 
not.  My  household  seems  to  have  gone  mad 
this  afternoon.  Sit  down.  Some  tea,  Blount, 
at  once." 

Mrs.  Verrier  sank  into  a  corner  of  the  sofa, 
while  Daphne,  with  an  "ouf!"  of  fatigue, 
took  off  her  hat,  and  threw  herself  down  at  the 
other  end,  her  small  feet  curled  up  beneath  her. 


59 

Her  half-frowning  eyes  gave  the  impression  that 
she  was  still  out  of  temper  and  on  edge. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  asked  her  com- 
panion quietly. 

"Listening  to  a  stuffy  debate  in  the  Senate," 
said  Daphne  without  a  smile. 

"The  Senate.  What  on  earth  took  you 
there?" 

"Well,  why  should  n't  I  go?  —  why  does  one 
do  anything?  It  was  just  a  debate  —  horribly 
dull -- trusts,  or  something  of  that  kind.  But 
there  was  a  man  attacking  the  President  —  and 
the  place  was  crowded.  Ugh!  the  heat  was 
intolerable!" 

"Who  took  you?" 

Daphne  named  an  under-secretary  —  an 
agreeable  and  ambitious  man,  who  had  been  very 
much  in  her  train  during  the  preceding  winter, 
and  until  Roger  Barnes  appeared  upon  the  scene. 

"I  thought  until  I  got  your  message  that 
you  were  going  to  take  Mr.  Barnes  motoring 
up  the  river." 

"Mr.  Barnes  was  engaged."  Daphne  gave 
the  information  tersely,  rousing  herself  after- 
wards to  make  tea,  which  appeared  at  that 
moment. 

"He  seems  to  have  been  a  good  deal  engaged 
this  week,"  said  Mrs.  Verrier,  when  they  were 
alone  again. 


60  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Daphne  made  no  reply.  And  Mrs.  Verrier, 
after  observing  her  for  a  moment,  resumed: 

"I  suppose  it  was  the  Bostonians?" 

"I  suppose  so.  What  does  it  matter?" 
The  tone  was  dry  and  sharp. 

"Daphne,  you  goose!"  laughed  Mrs.  Verrier, 
"I  believe  this  is  the  very  first  invitation  of 
theirs  he  has  accepted  at  all.  He  was  written 
to  about  them  by  an  old  friend  -  -  his  Eton 
master,  or  somebody  of  that  sort.  And  as  they 
turned  up  here  on  a  visit,  instead  of  his  having 
to  go  and  look  for  them  at  Boston,  of  course 
he  had  to  call  upon  them." 

"I  dare  say.  And  of  course  he  had  to  go 
to  tea  with  them  yesterday,  and  he  had  to  take 
them  to  Arlington  this  afternoon!  I  suppose 
I  'd  better  tell  you  —  we  had  a  quarrel  on  the 
subject  last  night." 

"Daphne!  —  don't,  for  heaven's  sake,  make 
him  think  himself  too  important!"  cried  Mrs. 
Verrier. 

Daphne,  with  both  elbows  on  the  table, 
was  slowly  crunching  a  morsel  of  toast  in  her 
small  white  teeth.  She  had  a  look  of  con- 
centrated energy  —  as  of  a  person  charged  and 
overcharged  with  force  of  some  kind,  impatient 
to  be  let  loose.  Her  black  eyes  sparkled; 
impetuosity  and  will  shone  from  them;  although 
they  showed  also  rims  of  fatigue,  as  if  Miss 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  61 

Daphne's  nights  had  not  of  late  been  all  they 
should  be.  Mrs.  Verrier  was  chiefly  struck, 
however,  by  the  perception  that  for  the  first  time 
Daphne  was  not  having  altogether  her  own  way 
with  the  world.  Madeleine  had  not  observed 
anything  of  the  same  kind  in  her  before.  In 
general  she  was  in  entire  command  both  of 
herself  and  of  the  men  who  surrounded  her. 
She  made  a  little  court  out  of  them,  and  treated 
them  en  despote.  But  Roger  Barnes  had  not 
lent  himself  to  the  process;  he  had  not  played 
the  game  properly;  and  Daphne's  sleep  had 
been  disturbed  for  the  first  time  in  history. 

It  had  been  admitted  very  soon  between 
the  two  friends  —  without  putting  it  very  pre- 
cisely -  -  that  Daphne  was  interested  in  Roger 
Barnes.  Mrs.  Verrier  believed  that  the  girl 
had  been  originally  carried  off  her  feet  by  the 
young  man's  superb  good  looks,  and  by  the 
natural  distinction  —  evident  in  all  societies  — 
which  they  conferred  upon  him.  Then,  no 
doubt,  she  had  been  piqued  by  his  good- 
humoured,  easy  way  -  -  the  absence  of  any 
doubt  of  himself,  of  tremor,  of  insistence. 
Mrs.  Verrier  said  to  herself --not  altogether 
shrewdly  --  that  he  had  no  nerves,  or  no  heart; 
and  Daphne  had  not  yet  come  across  the  genus. 
Her  lovers  had  either  possessed  too  much  heart 
-  like  Captain  Boyson  —  or  a  lack  of  coolness, 


62  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

when  it  really  came  to  the  point  of  grappling 
with  Daphne  and  her  millions,  as  in  the  case  of 
a  dozen  she  could  name.  Whereby  it  had  come 
about  that  Daphne's  attention  had  been  first 
provoked,  then  peremptorily  seized  by  the 
Englishman;  and  Mrs.  Verrier  began  now  to 
suspect  that  deeper  things  were  really  involved. 

Certainly  there  was  a  good  deal  to  puzzle 
the  spectator.  That  the  English  are  a  fortune- 
hunting  race  may  be  a  popular  axiom;  but 
it  was  quite  possible,  after  all,  that  Roger 
Barnes  was  not  the  latest  illustration  of  it. 
It  was  quite  possible,  also,  that  he  had  a  sweet- 
heart at  home,  some  quiet,  Quakerish  girl  who 
would  never  wave  in  his  face  the  red  flags  that 
Daphne  was  fond  of  brandishing.  It  was 
equally  possible  that  he  was  merely  fooling  with 
Daphne  —  that  he  had  seen  girls  he  liked  better 
in  New  York,  and  was  simply  killing  time  till 
a  sportsman  friend  of  whom  he  talked  should 
appear  on  the  scene  and  take  him  off  to  shoot 
moose  and  catch  trout  in  the  province  of  Quebec. 
Mrs.  Verrier  realized  that,  for  all  his  lack  of 
subtlety  and  the  higher  conversation,  young 
Barnes  had  managed  astonishingly  to  keep  his 
counsel.  His  "simplicity,"  like  Daphne's, 
seemed  to  be  of  a  special  type. 

And  yet  —  there  was  no  doubt  that  he  had 
devoted  himself  a  great  deal.  Washington 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  63 

society  had  quickly  found  him  out;  he  had  been 
invited  to  all  the  most  fastidious  houses,  and 
was  immensely  in  request  for  picnics  arid 
expeditions.  But  he  had  contrived,  on  the 
whole,  to  make  all  these  opportunities  promote 
the  flirtation  with  Daphne.  He  had,  in  fact, 
been  enough  at  her  beck  and  call  to  make  her 
the  envy  of  a  young  society  with  whom  the 
splendid  Englishman  promised  to  become  the 
rage,  and  not  enough  to  silence  or  wholly  dis- 
courage other  claimants  on  his  time. 

This  no  doubt  accounted  for  the  fact  that 
the  two  charming  Bostonians,  Mrs.  Maddison 
and  her  daughter,  who  had  but  lately  arrived 
in  Washington  and  made  acquaintance  with 
Roger  Barnes,  were  still  evidently  in  ignorance 
of  what  was  going  on.  They  were  not  initiated. 
They  had  invited  young  Barnes  in  the  innocence 
of  their  hearts,  without  inviting  Daphne  Floyd, 
whom  they  did  not  previously  know.  And  the 
young  man  had  seen  fit  to  accept  their  invitation. 
Hence  the  jealousy  that  was  clearly  burning  in 
Daphne,  that  she  was  not  indeed  even  trying 
to  hide  from  the  shrewd  eyes  of  her  friend. 

Mrs.  Verrier's  advice  not  to  make  Roger 
Barnes  "too  important"  had  called  up  a  flash 
of  colour  in  the  girl's  cheeks.  But  she  did  not 
resent  it  in  words;  rather  her  silence  deepened, 
till  Mrs.  Verrier  stretched  out  a  hand  and 


64  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

laughingly  turned  the  small  face  towards  her 
that  she  might  see  what  was  in  it. 

"Daphne!  I  really  believe  you  're  in  love 
with  him!" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Daphne,  her  eyelids  flicker- 
ing; "I  never  know  what  to  talk  to  him  about." 

"As  if  that  mattered!" 

"Elsie  Maddison  always  knows  what  to  talk 
to  him  about,  and  he  chatters  to  her  the  whole 
time." 

Mrs.  Verrier  paused  a  moment,  then  said: 
"Do  you  suppose  he  came  to  America  to  marry 
money  ?" 

"I  have  n't  an  idea." 

"Do  you  suppose  he  knows  that  you  —  are 
not  exactly  a  pauper?" 

Daphne  drew  herself  away  impatiently.  "I 
really  don't  suppose  anything,  Madeleine.  He 
never  talks  about  money,  and  I  should  think 
he  had  plenty  himself." 

Mrs.  Verrier  replied  by  giving  an  outline  of 
the  financial  misfortunes  of  Mr.  Barnes  pere, 
as  they  had  been  described  to  her  by  another 
English  traveller  in  Washington. 

Daphne  listened  indifferently.  "He  can't 
be  very  poor  or  he  would  n't  behave  as  he  does. 
And  he  is  to  inherit  the  General's  property. 
He  told  me  so." 

"And  it  -would  n't  matter  to  you,  Daphne, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  65 

if  you  did  think  a  man  had  married  you  for 
money  ?" 

Daphne  had  risen,  and  was  pacing  the 
drawing-room  floor,  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her  back.  She  turned  a  cloudy  face  upon  her 
questioner.  "It  would  matter  a  great  deal, 
if  I  thought  it  had  been  only  for  money.  But 
then,  I  hope  I  should  n't  have  been  such  a  fool 
as  to  marry  him." 

"But  you  could  bear  it,  if  the  money  counted 
for  something?" 

"I'm  not  an  idiot!"  said  the  girl,  with 
energy.  "With  whom  doesn't  money  count 
for  something  ?  Of  course  a  man  must  take 
money  into  consideration."  There  was  a  curious 
touch  of  arrogance  in  the  gesture  which  accom- 
panied the  words. 

; '  How  pleasant  it  is  to  have  money,  heigh-ho ! 
-How  pleasant  it  is  to  have  money,'"  said 
Mrs.  Verrier,  quoting,  with  a  laugh.  ;<Yes, 
I  dare  say,  you  'd  be  very  reasonable,  Daphne, 
about  that  kind  of  thing.  But  I  don't  think 
you  'd  be  a  comfortable  wife,  dear,  all  the  same." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

'You  might  allow  your  husband  to  spare 
a  little  love  to  your  money;  you  would  be 
for  killing  him  if  he  ever  looked  at  another 
woman!" 

"You   mean   I   should   be   jealous?"    asked 


66  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Daphne,  almost  with  violence.  'You  are  quite 
right  there.  I  should  be  very  jealous.  On  that 
point  I  should  'find  quarrel  in  a  straw." 

Her  cheeks  had  flushed  a  passionate  red. 
The  eyes  which  she  had  inherited  from  her 
Spanish  grandmother  blazed  above  them.  She 
had  become  suddenly  a  woman  of  Andalusia 
and  the  South,  moved  by  certain  primitive 
forces  in  the  blood. 

Madeleine  Verrier  held  out  her  hands,  smiling. 

"Come  here,  little  wild  cat.  I  believe  you 
are  jealous  of  Elsie  Maddison." 

Daphne  approached  her  slowly,  and  slowly 
dropped  into  a  seat  beside  her  friend,  her  eyes 
still  fixed  and  splendid.  But  as  she  looked  into 
them  Madeleine  Verrier  saw  them  suddenly 
dimmed. 

"Daphne!  you  are  in  love  with  him!" 

The  girl  recovered  herself,  clenching  her 
small  hands.  "If  I  am,"  she  said  resolutely, 
"it  is  strange  how  like  the  other  thing  it  is! 
I  don't  know  whether  I  shall  speak  to  him 
to-night." 

"To-night?"  Mrs.  Verrier  looked  a  little 
puzzled. 

"At  the  White  House.  You  're  going,  of 
course." 

"No,  I  am  not  going."  The  voice  was 
quiet  and  cold.  "I  am  not  asked." 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  67 

Daphne,  vexed  with  herself,  touched  her 
friend's  hand  caressingly.  "It  will  be  just  a 
crush,  dear.  But  I  promised  various  people 
to  go." 

"And  he  will  be  there?" 

"I  suppose  so."  Daphne  turned  her  head 
away,  and  then  sprang  up.  "Have  you  seen  the 
picture?" 

Mrs.  Verrier  followed  her  into  the  inner 
room,  where  the  girl  gave  a  laughing  and 
triumphant  account  of  her  acquisition,  the 
agents  she  had  employed,  the  skill  with  which 
it  had  been  conveyed  out  of  Italy,  the  wrath 
of  various  famous  collectors,  who  had  imagined 
that  the  fight  lay  between  them  alone,  when 
they  found  the  prize  had  been  ravished  from 
them.  Madeleine  Verrier  was  very  intelligent, 
and  the  contrast,  which  the  story  brought  out, 
between  the  girl's  fragile  youth  and  the  strange 
and  passionate  sense  of  power  which  breathed 
from  her  whenever  it  became  a  question  of 
wealth  and  the  use  of  it,  was  at  no  point  lost 
upon  her  companion. 

Daphne  would  not  allow  any  further  talk 
of  Roger  Barnes.  Her  chaperon,  Mrs.  Phillips, 
presently  appeared,  and  passed  through  rather 
a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  while  the  imperious 
mistress  of  the  house  inquired  into  certain 
invitations  and  card-leavings  that  had  not  been 


68  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

managed  to  her  liking.  Then  Daphne  sat  down 
to  write  a  letter  to  a  Girls'  Club  in  New  York, 
of  which  she  was  President  —  where,  in  fact,  she 
occasionally  took  the  Singing  Class,  with  which 
she  had  made  so  much  play  at  her  first  meeting 
with  Roger  Barnes.  She  had  to  tell  them  that 
she  had  just  engaged  a  holiday  house  for  them, 
to  which  they  might  go  in  instalments  through- 
out the  summer.  She  would  pay  the  rent,  pro- 
vide a  lady-superintendent,  and  make  herself 
responsible  for  all  but  food  expenses.  Her  small 
face  relaxed  -  -  became  quite  soft  and  charming 
-  as  she  wrote. 

"But,  my  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Phillips  in 
dismay,  as  Daphne  handed  her  the  letter  to  read, 
"you  have  taken  the  house  on  Lake  George, 
and  you  know  the  girls  had  all  set  their  hearts 
on  that  place  in  the  White  Mountains!" 

Daphne's  lips  tightened.  "Certainly  I  have 
taken  the  house  on  Lake  George,"  she  said,  as 
she  carefully  wiped  her  pen.  "I  told  them  I 
should." 

"But,  my  dear,  they  are  so  tired  of  Lake 
George!  They  have  been  there  three  years 
running.  And  you  know  they  subscribe  a  good 
deal  themselves." 

"Very  well! --then  let  them  do  without  my 
help.  I  have  inquired  into  the  matter.  The 
house  on  Lake  George  is  much  more  suitable 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  69 

than  the  White  Mountains  farm,  and  I  have 
written  to  the  agent.  The  thing  's  done." 

Mrs.  Phillips  argued  a  little  more,  but 
Daphne  was  immovable. 

Mrs.  Verrier,  watching  the  two,  reflected, 
as  she  had  often  done  before,  that  Mrs.  Phillips's 
post  was  not  particularly  enviable.  Daphne 
treated  her  in  many  ways  writh  great  generosity, 
paid  her  highly,  grudged  her  no  luxury,  and 
was  always  courteous  to  her  in  public.  But  in 
private  Daphne's  wrill  was  law,  and  she  had  an 
abrupt  and  dictatorial  way  of  asserting  it  that 
brought  the  red  back  into  Mrs.  Phillips's  faded 
cheeks.  Mrs.  Verrier  had  often  expected  her 
to  throw  up  her  post.  But  there  was  no  doubt 
something  in  Daphne's  personality  which  made 
life  beside  her  too  full  of  colour  to  be  lightly 
abandoned. 

Daphne  presently  went  upstairs  to  take  off 
her  walking-dress,  and  Mrs.  Phillips,  with  a 
rather  troubled  face,  began  to  tidy  the  confusion 
of  letters  she  had  left  behind  her. 

"I  dare  say  the  girls  won't  mind,"  said 
Madeleine  Verrier,  kindly. 

Mrs.  Phillips  started,  and  her  mild  lips 
quivered  a  little.  Daphne's  charities  were  for 
Daphne  an  amusement;  for  this  gentle,  faded 
woman,  who  bore  all  the  drudgery  of  them, 


70  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

they  were  the  chief  attraction  of  life  in  Daphne's 
house.  Mrs.  Phillips  loved  the  club-girls,  and 
the  thought  of  their  disappointment  pained  her. 

"I  must  try  and  put  it  to  them,"  was  her 
patient  reply. 

"Daphne  must  always  have  her  way," 
Madeleine  went  on,  smiling.  "I  wonder  what 
she  '11  do  when  she  marries." 

Mrs.  Phillips  looked  up  quickly. 

"I  hope  it  '11  be  the  right  man,  Mrs.  Verrier. 
Of  course,  with  anyone  so  —  so  clever  —  and  so 
used  to  managing  everything  for  herself --one 
would  be  a  little  anxious." 

Mrs.  Verrier's  expression  changed.  A  kind 
of  wildness  —  fanaticism  —  invaded  it,  as  of  one 
recalling  a  mission.  "Oh,  well,  nothing  is 
irrevocable  nowadays,"  she  said,  almost  with 
violence.  "Still  I  hope  Daphne  won't  make  a 
mistake." 

Mrs.  Phillips  looked  at  her  companion,  at 
first  in  astonishment.  Then  a  change  passed 
over  her  face.  With  a  cold  excuse  she  left 
Mrs.  Verrier  alone. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  reception  at  the  White  House  was  being 
given  in  honour  of  the  delegates  to  a  Peace 
Congress.  The  rooms  were  full  without  being 
inconveniently  crowded  and  the  charming  house 
opened  its  friendly  doors  to  a  society  more 
congruous  and  organic,  richer  also  in  the  nobler 
kind  of  variety  than  America,  perhaps,  can 
offer  to  her  guests  elsewhere.  What  the  opera 
and  international  finance  are  to  New  York, 
politics  and  administration  are,  as  we  all  know, 
to  Washington.  And  the  visitor  from  Europe, 
conversationally  starved  for  want  of  what  seem 
to  him  the  only  topics  worth  discussing,  finds 
himself  within  hearing  once  more  of  ministers, 
cabinets,  embassies,  and  parliamentary  gossip. 
Even  General  Hobson  had  come  to  admit  that 
-  especially  for  the  middle-aged  -  -  Washington 
parties  were  extremely  agreeable.  The  young 
and  foolish  might  sigh  for  the  flesh-pots  of 
New  York;  those  on  whom  "the  black  ox 
had  trodden,"  who  were  at  all  aware  what  a 
vast  tormenting,  multitudinous,  and  headstrong 
world  man  has  been  given  to  inhabit;  those 
who  were  engaged  in  governing  any  part  of  that 

71 


72  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

world,  or  meant  some  day  to  be  thus  engaged; 
for  them  Washington  was  indispensable,  and 
New  York  a  mere  entertainment. 

Moreover  Washington,  at  this  time  of  the 
world's  history,  was  the  scene  of  one  of  those 
episodes  --  those  brisker  moments  in  the  human 
comedy  -  -  which  every  now  and  then  revive 
among  us  an  almost  forgotten  belief  in  person- 
ality, an  almost  forgotten  respect  for  the 
mysteries  behind  it.  The  guests  streaming 
through  the  White  House  defiled  past  a  man 
who,  in  a  level  and  docketed  world,  appeared 
to  his  generation  as  the  reincarnation  of  forces 
primitive,  over-mastering,  and  heroic.  An 
honest  Odysseus !  —  toil-worn  and  storm-beaten, 
yet  still  with  the  spirit  and  strength,  the  many 
devices,  of  a  boy;  capable  like  his  prototype 
in  one  short  day  of  crushing  his  enemies,  uphold- 
ing his  friends,  purifying  his  house;  and  then, 
with  the  heat  of  righteous  battle  still  upon  him, 
with  its  gore,  so  to  speak,  still  upon  his  hands, 
of  turning  his  mind,  without  a  pause  and  without 
hypocrisy,  to  things  intimate  and  soft  and  pure 
—  the  domestic  sweetness  of  Penelope,  the  young 
promise  of  Telemachus.  The  President  stood, 
a  rugged  figure,  amid  the  cosmopolitan  crowd, 
breasting  the  modern  world,  like  some  ocean 
headland,  yet  not  truly  of  it,  one  of  the  great 
fighters  and  workers  of  mankind,  with  a  laugh* 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  73 

that  pealed  above  the  noise,  blue  eyes  that 
seemed  to  pursue  some  converse  of  their  own, 
and  a  hand  that  grasped  and  cheered,  where 
other  hands  withdrew  and  repelled.  This  one 
man's  will  had  now,  for  some  years,  made  the 
pivot  on  which  vast  issues  turned  —  issues  of 
peace  and  war,  of  policy  embracing  the  civilized 
world;  and,  here,  one  saw  him  in  drawing- 
rooms,  discussing  Alaric's  campaigns  with  an 
Oxford  professor,  or  chatting  with  a  young 
mother  about  her  children. 

Beside  him,  the  human  waves,  as  they  met 
and  parted,  disclosed  a  woman's  face,  modelled 
by  nature  in  one  of  her  lightest  and  deftest 
moods,  a  trifle  detached,  humorous  also,  as 
though  the  world's  strange  sights  stirred  a  gentle 
and  kindly  mirth  behind  its  sweet  composure. 
The  dignity  of  the  President's  wife  was  com- 
plete, yet  it  had  not  extinguished  the  personality 
it  clothed;  and  where  royalty,  as  the  European 
knows  it,  would  have  donned  its  mask  and  stood 
on  its  defence,  Republican  royalty  dared  to  be 
its  amused,  confiding,  natural  self. 

All  around  —  the  political,  diplomatic  world 
of  Washington.  General  Hobson,  as  he  passed 
through  it,  greeted  by  what  was  now  a  large 
acquaintance,  found  himself  driven  once  more 
to  the  inward  confession  —  the  grudging  con- 
fession —  as  though  Providence  had  not  played 


74  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

him  fair  in  extorting  it  —  that  American  poli- 
ticians were  of  a  vastly  finer  stamp  than  he  had 
expected  to  find  them.  The  American  press 
was  all  --he  vowed  --  that  fancy  had  painted  it, 
and  more.  But,  as  he  looked  about  him  at 
the  members  of  the  President's  administration 
-  at  this  tall,  black-haired  man,  for  instance, 
with  the  mild  and  meditative  eye,  the  equal, 
social  or  intellectual,  of  any  Foreign  Minister 
that  Europe  might  pit  against  him,  or  any  diplo- 
mat that  might  be  sent  to  handle  him;  or  this 
younger  man,  sparely  built,  with  the  sane,  hand- 
some face  —  son  of  a  famous  father,  modest, 
amiable,  efficient;  or  this  other,  of  huge  bulk 
and  height,  the  sport  of  caricature,  the  hope  of 
a  party,  smiling  already  a  presidential  smile  as 
he  passed,  observed  and  beset,  through  the 
crowded  rooms;  or  these  naval  or  military  men, 
with  their  hard  serviceable  looks,  and  the  curt 
good  manners  of  their  kind:  —  the  General  saw 
as  clearly  as  anybody  else,  that  America  need 
make  no  excuses  whatever  for  her  best  men, 
that  she  has  evolved  the  leaders  she  wants, 
and  Europe  has  nothing  to  teach  them. 

He  could  only  console  himself  by  the  remem- 
brance of  a  speech,  made  by  a  well-known 
man,  at  a  military  function  which  the  General 
had  attended  as  a  guest  of  honour  the  day 
before.  There  at  last  was  the  real  thing! 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  75 

The  real,  Yankee,  spread-eagle  thing!  The 
General  positively  hugged  the  thought  of  it. 

"The  American  soldier,"  said  the  speaker, 
standing  among  the  ambassadors,  the  naval 
and  military  attaches,  of  all  the  European 
nations,  "is  the  superior  of  all  other  sol- 
diers in  three  respects  --  bravery,  discipline, 
intelligence." 

Bravery,  discipline,  intelligence!  Just  those 
-  the  merest  trifle !  The  General  had  found 
himself  chuckling  over  it  in  the  visions  of  the 
night. 

Tired  at  last  of  these  various  impressions, 
acting  on  a  mind  not  quite  alert  enough  to 
deal  with  them,  the  General  went  in  search 
of  his  nephew.  Roger  had  been  absent  all 
day,  and  the  General  had  left  the  hotel  before 
his  return.  But  the  uncle  was  sure  that  he 
would  sooner  or  later  put  in  an  appearance. 

It  was  of  course  entirely  on  Roger's  account 
that  this  unwilling  guest  of  America  was  her 
guest  still.  For  three  weeks  now  had  the 
General  been  watching  the  affair  between  Roger 
and  Daphne  Floyd.  It  had  gone  with  such  a 
rush  at  first,  such  a  swing  and  fervour,  that  the 
General  had  felt  that  any  day  might  bring  the 
denouement.  It  was  really  impossible  to  desert 
the  lad  at  such  a  crisis,  especially  as  Laura  was 
so  excitable  and  anxious,  and  so  sure  to  make 


76  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

her  brother  pay  for  it  if  he  failed  to  support  her 
views  and  ambitions  at  the  right  moment. 
The  General  moreover  felt  the  absolute  necessity 
of  getting  to  know  something  more  about  Miss 
Floyd,  her  character,  the  details  of  her  fortune 
and  antecedents,  so  that  when  the  great  moment 
came  he  might  be  prepared. 

But  the  astonishing  thing  was  that  of  late 
the  whole  affair  seemed  to  have  come  to  some 
stupid  hitch!  Roger  had  been  behaving  like  a 
very  cool  hand --too  cool  by  half  in  the 
General's  opinion.  What  the  deuce  did  he  mean 
by  hanging  about  these  Boston  ladies,  if  his  affec- 
tions were  really  fixed  on  Miss  Daphne  ?  —  or  his 
ambitions,  which  to  the  uncle  seemed  nearer  the 
truth. 

"Well,  where  is  the  nephew?"  said  Cecilia 
Boyson's  voice  in  his  ear. 

The  General  turned.  He  saw  a  sharp, 
though  still  young  face,  a  thin  and  willowy 
figure,  attired  in  white  silk,  a  pince-nez  on  the 
high-pitched  nose,  and  a  cool  smile.  Uncon- 
sciously his  back  stiffened.  Miss  Boyson 
invariably  roused  in  him  a  certain  masculine 
antagonism. 

"I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  tell  me," 
he  said,  with  some  formality.  'There  are 
two  or  three  people  here  to  whom  he  should  be 
introduced." 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  77 

"Has  he  been  picnicking  with  the  Maddi- 
sons  ?"  The  voice  was  shrill,  perhaps  malicious. 

"I  believe  they  took  him  to  Arlington,  and 
somewhere  else  afterwards." 

"Ah,"  said  Cecilia,  "there  they  are." 

The  General  looked  toAvards  the  door  and 
saw  his  nephew  enter,  behind  a  mother  and 
daughter  whom,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  their 

o 

acquaintances  in  the  crowd  around  them  greeted 
with  a  peculiar  cordiality;  the  mother,  still 
young,  with  a  stag-like  carriage  of  the  head,  a 
long  throat,  swathed  in  white  tulle,  and  grizzled 
hair,  on  which  shone  a  spray  of  diamonds;  the 
daughter,  equally  tall  and  straight,  repeating 
her  mother's  beauty  w^ith  a  bloom  and  radiance 
of  her  own.  Innocent  and  happy,  with  dark 
eyes  and  a  soft  mouth,  Miss  Maddison  dropped 
a  little  curtsey  to  the  presidential  pair,  and  the 
room  turned  to  look  at  her  as  she  did  so. 

"A  very  sweet-looking  girl,"  said  the  General 
warmly.  "Her  father  is,  I  think,  a  professor." 

"He  wras.  He  is  now  just  a  writer  of  books. 
But  Elsie  was  brought  up  in  Cambridge.  How 
did  Mr.  Roger  know  them?" 

"His  Eton  tutor  told  him  to  go  and  see 
them." 

"I  thought  Miss  Floyd  expected  him  to-day  ?" 
said  Miss  Boy  son  carelessly,  adjusting  her 
eyeglass. 


78  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"It  was  a  mistake,  a  misunderstanding," 
replied  the  General  hurriedly.  "Miss  Floyd's 
party  is  put  off  till  next  week." 

"Daphne  is  just  coming  in,"  said  Miss 
Boy  son. 

The  General  turned  again.  The  watchful 
Cecilia  was  certain  that  he  was  not  in  love  with 
Daphne.  But  the  nephew --the  inordinately 
handsome,  and  by  now  much-courted  young 
man  -  -  what  was  the  real  truth  about  him  ? 

Cecilia     recognized  -  -  with    Mrs.    Verrier  - 
that  merely  to  put  the  question  involved  a  certain 
tribute  to  young  Barnes.     He  had  at  any  rate 
done  his  fortune-hunting,  if  fortune-hunting  it 
were,  with  decorum. 

"Miss  Floyd  is  looking  well  to-night," 
remarked  the  General. 

Cecilia  did  not  reply.  She  and  a  great  part 
of  the  room  were  engaged  in  watching  Roger 
Barnes  and  Miss  Maddison  walking  together 
through  a  space  which  seemed  to  have  been 
cleared  on  purpose  for  them,  but  was  really 
the  result  of  a  move  towards  the  supper-room. 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  pair?"  said  an 
enthusiastic  voice  behind  the  General.  "Athene 
and  Apollo  take  the  floor!"  A  gray-haired 
journalist  with  a  small,  bewrinkled  face,  buried 
in  whiskers,  and  beard,  laid  a  hand  on  the 
General's  arm  as  he  spoke. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  79 

The  General  smiled  vaguely.  "Do  you  know 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Maddison?" 

"Rather!"  said  the  little  man.  "Miss  Elsie's 
a  wonder!  As  pretty  and  soft  as  they  make 
them,  and  a  Greek  scholar  besides  —  took 
all  sorts  of  honours  at  Radcliffe  last  year.  I  've 
known  her  from  her  cradle." 

"What  a  number  of  your  girls  go  to  college!" 
said  the  General,  but  ungraciously,  in  the  tones 
of  one  who  no  sooner  saw  an  American  custom 
emerging  than  his  instinct  was  to  hit  it. 

"Yes;    it's  a  feature  of  our  modern  life - 
the    life    of    our    women.     But    not    the    most 
significant  one,  by  a  long  way." 

The  General  could  not  help  a  look  of  inquiry. 

The  journalist's  face  changed  from  gay  to 
grave.  "The  most  significant  thing  in  American 
life  just  now  - 

"I  know!"  interrupted  the  General.  'Your 
divorce  laws!" 

The  journalist  shook  his  head.  "It  goes 
deeper  than  that.  What  we  're  looking  on  at 
is  a  complete  transformation  of  the  idea  of 
marriage  - 

A  movement  in  the  crowd  bore  the  speaker 
away.  The  General  was  left  watching  the 
beautiful  pair  in  the  distance.  They  were 
apparently  quite  unconscious  that  they  roused 
any  special  attention.  Laughing  and  chatting 


80  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

like  two  children,  they  passed  into  the  supper- 
room  and  disappeared. 

Ten  minutes  later,  in  the  supper-room,  Barnes 
deserted  the  two  ladies  with  whom  he  had 
entered,  and  went  in  pursuit  of  a  girl  in  white, 
whose  necklace  of  star  sapphires,  set  in  a 
Spanish  setting  of  the  seventeenth  century,  had 
at  once  caught  the  eye  of  the  judicious.  Roger, 
however,  knew  nothing  of  jewels,  and  was  only 
conscious  as  he  approached  Miss  Floyd,  first 
of  the  mingling  in  his  own  mind  of  something 
like  embarrassment  with  something  like  defiance, 
and  then,  of  the  glitter  in  the  girl's  dark  eyes. 

"I  hope  you  had  an  interesting  debate,"  he 
said.  "Mrs.  Phillips  tells  me  you  went  to  the 
Senate." 

Daphne  looked  him  up  and  down.  "Did 
I?"  she  said  slowly.  "I've  forgotten.  Will 
you  move,  please  ?  There  's  someone  bringing 
me  an  ice."  And  turning  her  back  on  Roger, 
she  smiled  and  beckoned  to  the  Under-Secretary, 
who  with  a  triumphant  face  was  making  his 
way  to  her  through  the  crowd. 

Roger  coloured  hotly.  "May  I  bring  Mrs. 
Maddison?"  he  said,  passing  her;  "she  would 
like  to  talk  to  you  about  a  party  for  next 
week  - 

"Thank  you.  I  am  just  going  home." 
And  with  an  energetic  movement  she  freed 


81 

herself  from  him,  and  was  soon  in  the  gayest 
of  talk  with  the  Under-Secretaiy. 

The  reception  broke  up  some  time  after 
midnight,  and  on  the  way  home  General  Hobson 
attempted  a  raid  upon  his  nephew's  intentions. 

"I  don't  wish  to  seem  an  intrusive  person, 
my  dear  Roger,  but  may  I  ask  how  much 
longer  you  mean  to  stay  in  Washington?" 

The  tone  was  short  and  the  look  which 
accompanied  the  words  not  without  sarcasm. 
Roger,  who  had  been  walking  beside  his  com- 
panion, still  deeply  flushed,  in  complete  silence, 
gave  an  awkward  laugh. 

"And  as  for  you,  Uncle  Archie,  I  thought 
you  meant  to  sail  a  fortnight  ago.  If  you  've 
been  staying  on  like  this  on  my  account  - 

"Don't  make  a  fool  either  of  me  or  your- 
self, Roger!"  said  the  General  hastily,  roused 
at  last  to  speech  by  the  annoyance  of  the  situa- 
tion. "Of  course  it  was  on  your  account  that 
I  have  stayed  on.  But  what  on  earth  it  all 
means,  and  where  your  affairs  are  —  I  'm 
hanged  if  I  have  the  glimmer  of  an  idea!" 

Roger's  smile  was  perfectly  good-humoured. 

"I  haven't  much  myself,"   he  said  quietly. 

"Do  you  —  or  do  you  not  —  mean  to  propose 
to  Miss  Floyd?"  cried  the  General,  pausing 
in  the  centre  of  Lafayette  Square,  now  all  but 


82 

deserted,  and  apostrophizing  with  his  umbrella 

-  for  the  night  was  soft  and  rainy  -  -  the  presi- 
dential statue  above  his  head. 

"Have  I  given  you  reason  to  suppose  that 
I  was  going  to  do  so?"  said  Roger  slowly. 

"  Given  me  ?  —  given  everybody  reason  ?  —  of 
course  you  have!  —  a  dozen  times  over.  I 
don't  like  interfering  with  your  affairs,  Roger 

-  with  any  young  man's  affairs  --  but  you  must 
know  that  you   have  set  Washington   talking, 
and  it 's  not  fair  to  a  girl  —  by  George  it  is  n't !  - 
when   she   has   given   you   encouragement   and 
you  have  made  her  conspicuous,  to  begin  the 
same   story,    in   the   same   place,    immediately, 
with   someone   else!     As  you   say,   I   ought   to 
have  taken  myself  off  long  ago.  ' 

"I  did  n't  say  anything  of  the  kind,"  said 
Roger  hotly;  "you  should  n't  put  wrords  into 
my  mouth,  Uncle  Archie.  And  I  really  don't 
see  why  you  attack  me  like  this.  My  tutor 
particularly  asked  me,  if  I  came  across  them, 
to  be  civil  to  Mrs.  Maddison  and  her  daughter, 
and  I  have  done  nothing  but  pay  them  the 
most  ordinary  attentions." 

"When  a  man  is  in  love  he  pays  no  ordinary 
attentions.  He  has  eyes  for  no  one  but  the 
lady."  The  General's  umbrella,  as  it  descended 
from  the  face  of  Andrew  Jackson  and  rattled 
on  the  flagged  path,  supplied  each  word  with 


83 

emphasis.  "However,  it  is  no  good  talking, 
and  I  don't  exactly  know  why  I  should  put  my 
old  oar  in.  But  the  fact  is  I  feel  a  certain 
responsibility.  People  here  have  been  uncom- 
monly civil.  Well,  well! — I've  wired  to-day 
to  ask  if  there  is  a  berth  left  in  the  Venetia  for 
Saturday.  And  you,  I  suppose"  -the  inquiry 
was  somewhat  peremptory-  "will  be  going 
back  to  New  York?" 

"I  have  no  intention  of  leaving  Washington 
just  yet,"  said  Roger,  with  decision. 

"And  may  I  ask  what  you  intend  to  do  here  ?" 

Roger  laughed.  "I  really  think  that 's 
my  business.  However,  you  've  been  an 
awful  brick,  Uncle  Archie,  to  stay  on  like  this. 
I  assure  you,  if  I  don't  say  much,  I  think 
it." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  hotel, 
the  steps  and  hall  of  which  were  full  of 
people. 

' That 's  how  you  put  me  off."  The  General's 
tone  was  resentful.  "And  you  wron't  give  me 
any  idea  of  the  line  I  am  to  take  with  your 
mother?" 

The  young  man  smiled  again  and  waved  an 
evasive  hand. 

"If  you  '11  only  be  patient  a  little  longer, 
Uncle  Archie  - 

At  this  point  an  acquaintance  of  the  General's 


84  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

who  was  smoking  in  the  hall  came  forward  to 
greet  him,  and  Roger  made  his  escape. 

"Well,  what  the  deuce  do  I  mean  to  do?" 
Barnes  asked  himself  the  question  deliber- 
ately. He  was  hanging  out  of  the  window,  in 
his  bedroom,  smoking  and  pondering. 

It  was  a  mild  and  rainy  night.  Washington 
was  full  of  the  earth  and  leaf  odours  of  the 
spring,  which  rose  in  gusts  from  its  trees  and 
gardens;  and  rugged,  swiftly  moving  clouds 
disclosed  every  now  and  then  what  looked  like 
hurrying  stars. 

The  young  man  was  excited  and  on  edge. 
Daphne  Floyd  —  and  the  thought  of  Daphne 
Floyd --had  set  his  pulses  hammering;  they 
challenged  in  him  the  aggressive,  self-assertive, 
masculine  force.  The  history  of  the  preceding 
three  weeks  was  far  from  simple.  He  had  first 
paid  a  determined  court  to  her,  conducting  it  in 
an  orthodox,  English,  conspicuous  way.  His 
mother,  and  her  necessities  -  -  his  own  also  - 
imposed  it  on  him;  and  he  flung  himself  into 
it,  setting  his  teeth.  Then,  to  his  astonishment, 
one  may  almost  say  to  his  disconcerting,  he 
found  the  prey  all  at  once,  and,  as  it  were, 
without  a  struggle,  fluttering  to  his  lure,  and 
practically  within  his  grasp.  There  was  an 
evening  when  Daphne's  sudden  softness,  the 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  85 

look  in  her  eyes,  the  inflection  in  her  voice  had 
fairly  thrown  him  off  his  balance.  For  the  first 
time  he  had  shown  a  lack  of  self-command  and 
self-possession.  Whereupon,  in  a  flash,  a  new 
and  strange  Daphne  had  developed  —  imperi- 
ous, difficult,  incalculable.  The  more  he  gave, 
the  more  she  claimed.  Nor  was  it  mere  girlish 
caprice.  The  young  Englishman,  invited  to  a 
game  that  he  had  never  yet  played,  felt  in  it 
something  sinister  and  bewildering.  Gropingly, 
he  divined  in  front  of  him  a  future  of  tyranny 
on  her  side,  of  expected  submission  on  his. 
The  Northern  character  in  him,  with  its  reserve, 
its  phlegm,  its  general  sanity,  began  to  shrink 
from  the  Southern  elements  in  her.  He  became 
aware  of  the  depths  in  her  nature,  of  things 
volcanic  and  primitive,  and  the  English  stuff 
in  him  recoiled. 

So  he  was  to  be  bitted  and  bridled,  it  seemed, 
in  the  future.  Daphne  Floyd  would  have 
bought  him  with  her  dollars,  and  he  would  have 
to  pay  the  price. 

Something  natural  and  wild  in  him  said 
No!  If  he  married  this  girl  he  would  be 
master,  in  spite  of  her  money.  He  realized 
vaguely,  at  any  rate,  the  strength  of  her  will, 
and  the  way  in  which  it  had  been  tempered  and 
steeled  by  circumstance.  But  the  perception 
only  roused  in  himself  some  slumbering  tenacities 


86  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

and  vehemences  of  which  he  had  been  scarcely 
aware.  So  that,  almost  immediately  —  since 
there  was  no  glamour  of  passion  on  his  side  —  he 
began  to  resent  her  small  tyrannies,  to  draw  in, 
and  draw  back.  A  few  quarrels  —  not  ordinary 
lovers'  quarrels,  but  representing  a  true  grapple 
of  personalities  —  sprang  up  behind  a  screen  of 
trifles.  Daphne  was  once  more  rude  and  pro- 
voking, Roger  cool  and  apparently  indifferent. 
This  was  the  stage  when  Mrs.  Verrier  had  become 
an  admiring  observer  of  what  she  supposed  to 
be  his  "tactics."  But  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  curious  little  crisis  which  had  preceded  them. 
Then  the  Maddisons,  mother  and  daughter, 
"my  tutor's  friends,"  had  appeared  upon  the 
scene  —  charming  people!  Of  course  civilities 
were  due  to  them,  and  had  to  be  paid  them. 
Next  to  his  mother  —  and  to  the  girl  of  the 
orchard  —  the  affections  of  this  youth,  who  was 
morally  backward  and  immature,  but  neither 
callous  nor  fundamentally  selfish,  had  been 
chiefly  given  to  a  certain  Eton  master,  of  a 
type  happily  not  uncommon  in  English  public 
schools.  Herbert  French  had  been  Roger's 
earliest  and  best  friend.  What  Roger  had 
owed  him  at  school,  only  he  knew.  Since 
school-days  they  had  been  constant  corre- 
spondents, and  French's  influence  on  his  pupil's 
early  manhood  had  done  much,  for  all  Roger's 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  87 

laziness  and  self-indulgence,  to  keep  him  from 
serious  lapses. 

Neglect  any  friends  of  his  —  and  such  jolly 
friends  ?  Rather  not !  But  as  soon  as  Daphne 
had  seen  Elsie  Maddison,  and  he  had  begged 
an  afternoon  to  go  on  an  expedition  with  them, 
Daphne  had  become  intolerable.  She  had 
shown  her  English  friend  and  his  acquaintances 
a  manner  so  insulting  and  provocative,  that 
the  young  man's  blood  had  boiled. 

If  he  were  in  love  with  her  —  well  and  good! 
She  might  no  doubt  have  tamed  him  by  these 
stripes.  But  she  was  no  goddess  to  him;  no 
golden  cloud  enveloped  her;  he  saw  her  under 
a  common  daylight.  At  the  same  time  she 
attracted  him;  he  was  vain  of  what  had  seemed 
his  conquest,  and  uneasily  exultant  in  the 
thought  of  her  immense  fortune.  "I  '11  make 
her  an  excellent  husband  if  she  marries  me,"  he 
said  to  himself  stubbornly;  "I  can,  and  I  will." 

But  meanwhile  how  was  this  first  stage  to  end  ? 
At  the  White  House  that  night  Daphne  had 
treated  him  with  contumely,  and  before  specta- 
tors. He  must  either  go  or  bring  her  to  the  point. 

He  withdrew  suddenly  from  the  window, 
flinging  out  the  end  of  his  cigarette.  "I'll 
propose  to  her  to-morrow  —  and  she  may  either 
take  me  or  leave  me!" 

He  paced  up  and  down  his  room,  conscious 


88  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

of  relief  and  fresh  energy.  As  he  did  so  his 
eyes  were  drawn  to  a  letter  from  Herbert 
French  lying  on  the  table.  He  took  it  up  and 
read  it  again  —  smiling  over  it  broadly,  in  a 
boyish  and  kindly  amusement.  "By  Jove! 
he  's  happy." 

Then  as  he  put  it  down  his  face  darkened. 
There  was  something  in  the  letter,  in  its  man- 
liness and  humour,  its  unconscious  revelation 
of  ideals  wholly  independent  of  dollars,  that 
made  Roger  for  the  moment  loathe  his  own 
position.  But  he  pulled  himself  together. 

"I  shall  make  her  a  good  husband,"  he 
repeated,  frowning.  "She'll  have  nothing  to 
complain  of." 

On  the  following  day  a  picnic  among  the 
woods  of  the  Upper  Potomac  brought  together 
most  of  the  personages  in  this  history.  The 
day  was  beautiful,  the  woods  fragrant  with 
spring  leaf  and  blossom,  and  the  stream, 
swollen  with  rain,  ran  seaward  in  a  turbid, 
rejoicing  strength. 

The  General,  having  secured  his  passage 
home,  was  in  good  spirits  as  far  as  his  own 
affairs  were  concerned,  though  still  irritable 
on  the  score  of  his  nephew's.  Since  the  abortive 
attempt  on  his  confidence  of  the  night  before, 
Roger  had  avoided  all  private  conversation 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  89 

with  his  uncle;  and  for  once  the  old  had  to 
learn  patience  from  the  young. 

The  party  was  given  by  the  wife  of  one  of 
the  staff  of  the  French  Embassy  —  a  young 
Frenchwoman,  as  gay  and  frank  as  her  babies, 
and  possessed,  none  the  less,  of  all  the  social 
arts  of  her  nation.  She  had  taken  a  shrewd 
interest  in  the  matter  of  Daphne  Floyd  and  the 
Englishman.  Daphne,  according  to  her,  should 
be  promptly  married  and  her  millions  taken 
care  of,  and  the  handsome,  broad-shouldered 
fellow  impressed  the  little  Frenchwoman's  imag- 
ination as  a  proper  and  capable  watchdog. 
She  had  indeed  become  aware  that  something 
was  wrong,  but  her  acuteness  entirely  refused 
to  believe  that  it  had  any  vital  connection  with 
the  advent  of  pretty  Elsie  Maddison.  Mean- 
while, to  please  Daphne,  whom  she  liked,  while 
conscious  of  a  strong  and  frequent  desire  to 
smite  her,  Madame  de  Fronsac  had  invited 
Mrs.  Verrier,  treating  her  with  a  cold  and 
punctilious  courtesy  that,  as  applied  to  any  other 
guest,  would  have  seemed  an  affront. 

In  vain,  however,  did  the  hostess,  in  vain 
did  other  kindly  bystanders,  endeavour  to 
play  the  game  of  Daphne  Floyd.  In  the  first 
place  Daphne  herself,  though  piped  unto,  refused 
to  dance.  She  avoided  the  society  of  Roger 
Barnes  in  a  pointed  and  public  way,  bright 


90  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

colour  on  her  cheeks  and  a  wild  light  in  her  eyes ; 
the  Under-Secretary  escorted  her  and  carried 
her  wrap.  Washington  did  not  know  wThat 
to  think.  For  owing  to  this  conduct  of 
Daphne's,  the  charming  Boston  girl,  the  other 
ingenue  of  the  party,  fell  constantly  to  the  care 
of  young  Barnes;  and  to  see  them  stepping 
along  the  green  ways  together,  matched  almost 
in  height,  and  clearly  of  the  same  English 
ancestry  and  race,  pleased  while  it  puzzled  the 
spectators. 

The  party  lunched  in  a  little  inn  beside  the 
river,  and  then  scattered  again  along  wroodland 
paths.  Daphne  and  the  Under-Secretary  wan- 
dered on  ahead  and  were  some  distance  from 
the  rest  of  the  party  when  that  gentleman 
suddenly  looked  at  his  watch  in  dismay.  An 
appointment  had  to  be  kept  with  the  President 
at  a  certain  hour,  and  the  Under-Secretary's 
wits  had  been  wandering.  There  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  take  a  short  cut  through  the  woods 
to  a  local  station  and  make  at  once  for 
Washington. 

Daphne  quickened  his  uneasiness  and 
hastened  his  departure.  She  assured  him  that 
the  others  were  close  behind,  and  that  nothing 
could  suit  her  better  than  to  rest  on  a  mossy 
stone  that  happily  presented  itself  till  they 
arrived. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  91 

The  Under-Secretary,  transformed  into  the 
anxious  and  ambitious  politician,  abruptly 
left  her. 

Daphne,  as  soon  as  he  was  gone,  allowed 
herself  the  natural  attitude  that  fitted  her 
thoughts.  She  was  furiously  in  love  and  torn 
with  jealousy;  and  that  love  and  jealousy 
could  smart  so,  and  cling  so,  was  a  strange 
revelation  to  one  accustomed  to  make  a  world 
entirely  to  her  liking.  Her  dark  eyes  were 
hollow,  her  small  mouth  had  lost  its  colour, 
and  she  showed  that  touch  of  something  wasting 
and  withering  that  Theocritan  shepherds  knew 
in  old  Sicilian  days.  It  was  as  though  she  had 
defied  a  god  —  and  the  god  had  avenged  himself. 

Suddenly  he  appeared  —  the  teasing  divinity 
—  in  human  shape.  There  was  a  rustling  among 
the  brushwood  fringing  the  river.  Roger  Barnes 
emerged  and  made  his  way  up  towards  her. 

"I  've  been  stalking  you  all  this  time,"  he 
said,  breathless,  as  he  reached  her,  "and  now  at 
last  —  I  've  caught  you!" 

Daphne  rose  furiously.  "What  right  have 
you  to  stalk  me,  as  you  call  it  —  to  follow  me  — 
to  speak  to  me  even  ?  I  wish  to  avoid  you 
—  and  I  have  shown  it!" 

Roger  looked  at  her.  He  had  thrown  down 
his  hat,  and  she  saw  him  against  the  back- 
ground of  sunny  wood,  as  the  magnificent 


92 

embodiment  of  its  youth  and  force.  "And  why 
have  you  shown  it?"  There  was  a  warning 
tremor  of  excitement  in  his  voice.  "What 
have  I  done?  I  haven't  deserved  it!  You 
treat  me  like  —  like  a  friend !  —  and  then  you 
drop  me  like  a  hot  coal.  You  've  been  awfully 
unkind  to  me!" 

"I  won't  discuss  it  with  you,"  she  cried 
passionately.  'You  are  in  my  way,  Mr.  Barnes. 
Let  me  go  back  to  the  others!"  And  stretching 
out  a  small  hand,  she  tried  to  put  him  aside. 

Roger  hesitated,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
He  caught  the  hand,  he  gathered  its  owner  into 
a  pair  of  strong  arms,  and  bending  over  her,  he 
kissed  her.  Daphne,  suffocated  with  anger 
and  emotion,  broke  from  him  -  -  tottering. 
Then  sinking  on  the  ground  beneath  a  tree,  she 
burst  into  sobbing.  Roger,  scarlet,  with  spark- 
ling eyes,  dropped  on  one  knee  beside  her. 

"Daphne,  I  'm  a  ruffian!  forgive  me!  you 
must,  Daphne!  Look  here,  I  want  you  to 
marry  me.  I  've  nothing  to  offer  you,  of  course; 
1 5m  a  poor  man,  and  you  've  all  this  horrible 
money !  But  I  —  I  love  you !  —  and  I  '11  make 
you  a  good  husband,  Daphne,  that  I  '11  swear. 
If  you  '11  take  me,  you  shall  never  be  sorry 
for  it." 

He  looked  at  her  again,  sorely  embarrassed, 
hating  himself,  yet  inwardly  sure  of  her.  Her 


"He   caught  the  hand,  he  gathered  its  owner  into  a  pair  of 
strong  arms,  and  bending  over  her,  he  kissed  her  " 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  93 

small  frame  shook  with  weeping.  And  presently 
she  turned  from  him  and  said  in  a  fierce  voice: 

"Go  and  tell  all  that  to  Elsie  Maddison!" 

Infinitely  relieved,  Roger  gave  a  quick, 
excited  laugh. 

"She'd  soon  send  me  about  my  business! 
I  should  be  a  day  too  late  for  the  fair,  in  that 
quarter.  What  do  you  think  she  and  I  have 
been  talking  about  all  this  time,  Daphne  ?" 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Daphne  hastily,  with 
face  still  averted. 

"I  'm  going  to  tell  you,  all  the  same,"  cried 
Roger  triumphantly,  and  diving  into  his  coat 
pocket  he  produced  "my  tutor's  letter." 
Daphne  sat  immovable,  and  he  had  to  read  it 
aloud  himself.  It  contained  the  rapturous 
account  of  Herbert  French's  engagement  to 
Miss  Maddison,  a  happy  event  which  had  taken 
place  in  England  during  the  Eton  holidays, 
about  a  month  before  this  date. 

"There!"  cried  the  young  man  as  he  finished 
it.  "And  she  's  talked  about  nothing  all  the 
time,  nothing  at  all  -  -  but  old  Herbert  —  and 
how  good  he  is  —  and  how  good-looking,  and 
the  Lord  knows  what!  I  got  precious  sick 
of  it,  though  I  think  he  's  a  trump,  too.  Oh, 
Daphne! --you  were  a  little  fool!" 

"All  the  same,  you  have  behaved  abomin- 
ably!" Daphne  said,  still  choking. 


94  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"No,  I  haven't,"  was  Roger's  firm  reply. 
"It  was  you  who  were  so  cross.  I  couldn't 
tell  you  anything.  I  say!  you  do  know  how 
to  stick  pins  into  people!" 

But  he  took  up  her  hand  and  kissed  it  as 
he  spoke. 

Daphne  allowed  it.  Her  breast  heaved  as 
the  storm  departed.  And  she  looked  so  charm- 
ing, so  soft,  so  desirable,  as  she  sat  there  in  her 
white  dress,  with  her  great  tear- washed  eyes 
and  fluttering  breath,  that  the  youth  was  really 
touched  and  carried  off  his  feet;  and  the  rest  of 
his  task  was  quite  easy.  All  the  familiar  things 
that  had  to  be  said  were  said,  and  with  all  the 
proper  emphasis  and  spirit.  He  played  his  part, 
the  spring  woods  played  theirs,  and  Daphne, 
worn  out  by  emotion  and  conquered  by  passion, 
gradually  betrayed  herself  wholly.  And  so 
much  at  least  may  be  said  to  the  man's  credit 
that  there  were  certainly  moments  in  the  half- 
hour  between  them  when,  amid  the  rush  of 
talk,  laughter,  and  caresses,  that  conscience 
which  he  owed  so  greatly  to  the  exertions  of 
"my  tutor"  pricked  him  not  a  little. 

After  losing  themselves  deliberately  in  the 
woods,  they  strolled  back  to  join  the  rest  of 
the  party.  The  sounds  of  conversation  were 
already  audible  through  the  trees  in  front  of 
them,  when  they  saw  Mrs.  Verrier  coming 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  95 

towards  them.  She  was  walking  alone  and  did 
not  perceive  them.  Her  eyes  were  raised  and 
fixed,  as  though  on  some  sight  in  front  of  them. 
The  bitterness,  the  anguish,  one  might  almost 
call  it,  of  her  expression,  the  horror  in  the  eyes, 
as  of  one  ghost-led,  ghost-driven,  drew  an 
exclamation  from  Roger. 

"There  's  Mrs.  Verrier!  Why,  how  ill  she 
looks!" 

Daphne  paused,  gazed,  and  shrank.  She 
drew  him  aside  through  the  trees. 

"Let's  go  another  way.  Madeleine's  often 
strange."  And  with  a  superstitious  pang  she 
wished  that  Madeleine  Verrier's  face  had  not 
been  the  first  to  meet  her  in  this  hour  of  her 
betrothal. 


PART  II 
THREE  YEARS  AFTER 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  THE  drawing-room  at  Heston  Park  two 
ladies  were  seated.  One  was  a  well- 
preserved  wToman  of  fifty,  with  a  large  oblong 
face,  good  features,  a  double  chin,  and  abundant 
gray  hair  arranged  in  waved  bandeaux  above  a 
forehead  which  should  certainly  have  implied 
strength  of  character,  and  a  pair  of  challen- 
ging black  eyes.  Lady  Barnes  moved  and  spoke 
with  authority;  it  was  evident  that  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  do  so  all  her  life;  to  trail 
silk  gowns  over  Persian  carpets,  to  engage 
expensive  cooks  and  rely  on  expensive  butlers, 
with  a  strict  attention  to  small  economies  all 
the  time;  to  impose  her  will  on  her  household 
and  the  clergyman  of  the  parish;  to  give  her 
opinions  on  books,  and  expect  them  to  be 
listened  to;  to  abstain  from  politics  as  unfemi- 
nine,  and  to  make  up  for  it  by  the  strongest  of 
views  on  Church  questions.  She  belonged  to 
an  English  type  common  throughout  all  classes 
—  quite  harmless  and  tolerable  when  things 
go  well,  but  apt  to  be  soured  and  twisted  by 
adversity. 

And   Lady  Barnes,   it  will   be  remembered, 

99 


100          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

had  known  adversity.  Not  much  of  it,  nor  for 
long  together;  but  in  her  own  opinion  she  had 
gone  through  "great  trials,"  to  the  profit  of 
her  Christian  character.  She  was  quite  certain, 
now,  that  everything  had  been  for  the  best, 
and  that  Providence  makes  no  mistakes.  But 
that,  perhaps,  was  because  the  "trials"  had 
only  lasted  about  a  year;  and  then,  so  far  as 
they  were  pecuniary,  the  marriage  of  her  son 
with  Miss  Daphne  Floyd  had  entirely  relieved 
her  of  them.  For  Roger  now  made  her  a  hand- 
some allowance  and  the  chastened  habits  of  a 
most  uncomfortable  year  had  been  hastily 
abandoned. 

Nevertheless,  Lady  Barnes's  aspect  on  this 
autumn  afternoon  was  not  cheerful,  and  her 
companion  was  endeavouring,  with  a  little 
kind  embarrassment,  both  to  soothe  an  evident 
irritation  and  to  avoid  the  confidences  that 
Roger's  mother  seemed  eager  to  pour  out. 
Elsie  French,  whom  Washington  had  known 
three  years  before  as  Elsie  Maddison,  was  in 
that  bloom  of  young  married  life  when  all  that 
was  lovely  in  the  girl  seems  to  be  still  lingering, 
while  yet  love  and  motherhood  have  wrought 
once  more  their  old  transforming  miracle  on 
sense  and  spirit.  In  her  afternoon  dress  of 
dainty  sprigged  silk,  with  just  a  touch  of  austerity 
in  the  broad  muslin  collar  and  cuffs  —  her 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          101 

curly  brown  hair  simply  parted  on  her  brow, 
and  gathered  classically  on  a  shapely  head  — -  her 
mouth  a  little  troubled,  her  brow  a  little  puck- 
ered over  Lady  Barnes's  discontents  —  she  was  a 
very  gracious  vision.  Yet  behind  the  gentleness, 
as  even  Lady  Barnes  knew,  there  were  qualities 
and  characteristics  of  a  singular  strength. 

Lady  Barnes  indeed  was  complaining,  and 
could  not  be  stopped. 

'You  see,  dear  Mrs.  French,"  she  was 
saying,  in  a  rapid,  lowered  voice,  and  with 
many  glances  at  the  door,  "the  trouble  is  that 
Daphne  is  never  satisfied.  She  has  some 
impossible  ideal  in  her  mind,  and  then  everything 
must  be  sacrificed  to  it.  She  began  with  going 
into  ecstasies  over  this  dear  old  house,  and  now! 
—there  's  scarcely  a  thing  in  it  she  does  not  want 
to  change.  Poor  Edward  and  I  spent  thou- 
sands upon  it,  and  we  really  flattered  ourselves 
that  we  had  some  taste;  but  it  is  not  good 
enough  for  Daphne!" 

The  speaker  settled  herself  in  her  chair 
with  a  slight  but  emphatic  clatter  of  bangles 
and  rustle  of  skirts. 

"It's  the  ceilings,  isn't  it?"  murmured 
Elsie  French,  glancing  at  the  heavy  decoration, 
the  stucco  bosses  and  pendants  above  her  head 
which  had  replaced,  some  twenty  years  before, 
a  piece  of  Adam  design,  sparing  and  felicitous. 


102          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"It's  everything!"  Lady  Barnes's  tone  was 
now  more  angry  than  fretful.  "I  don't,  of 
course,  like  to  say  it  —  but  really  Daphne's 
self-confidence  is  too  amazing!" 

"She  does  know  so  much,"  said  Elsie  French 
reflectively.  "Doesn't  she?" 

"Well,  if  you  call  it  knowing.  She  can 
always  get  some  tiresome  person,  whom  she 
calls  an  'expert,'  to  back  her  up.  But  I  believe 
in  liking  what  you  do  like,  and  not  being  bullied 
into  what  you  don't  like. " 

"I  suppose  if  one  studies  these  things 

Elsie  French  began  timidly. 

"What's  the  good  of  studying!"  cried  Lady 
Barnes;  "one  has  one 's  own  taste,  or  one 
has  n't." 

Confronted  with  this  form  of  the  Absolute, 
Elsie  French  looked  perplexed;  especially  as 
her  own  artistic  sympathies  were  mainly  with 
Daphne.  The  situation  was  certainly  awkward. 
At  the  time  of  the  Barnes's  financial  crash, 
and  Sir  Edward  Barnes's  death,  Heston  Park, 
which  belonged  to  Lady  Barnes,  was  all  that 
remained  to  her  and  her  son.  A  park  of  a 
hundred  acres  and  a  few  cottages  went  with  the 
house;  but  there  wTas  no  estate  to  support  it, 
and  it  had  to  be  let,  to  provide  an  income  for  the 
widow  and  the  boy.  Much  of  the  expensive 
furniture  had  been  sold  before  letting,  but 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  103 

enough  remained  to  satisfy  the  wants  of    a  not 
very  exacting  tenant. 

Lady  Barnes  had  then  departed  to  weep 
in  exile  on  a  pittance  of  about  seven  hundred  a 
year.  But  with  the  marriage  of  her  son  to 
Miss  Floyd  and  her  millions,  the  mother's 
thoughts  had  turned  fondly  back  to  Heston 
Park.  It  was  too  big  for  her,  of  course;  but 
the  young  people  clearly  must  redeem  it,  and 
settle  there.  And  Daphne  had  been  quite 
amenable.  The  photographs  charmed  her. 
The  house,  she  said,  was  evidently  in  a  pure  style, 
and  it  would  be  a  delight  to  make  it  habitable 
again.  The  tenant,  however,  had  a  lease,  and 
refused  to  turn  out  until  at  last  Daphne  had 
frankly  bribed  him  to  go.  And  now,  after 
three  years  of  married  life,  during  which  the 
young  couple  had  rented  various  "places," 
besides  their  house  in  London  and  a  villa  at 
Tunis,  Heston  Park  had  been  vacated,  Daphne 
and  Roger  had  descended  upon  it  as  Lady 
Barnes's  tenants  at  a  high  rent,  intent  upon  its 
restoration;  and  Roger's  mother  had  been 
invited  to  their  councils. 

Hence,  indeed,  these  tears.  When  Daphne 
first  stepped  inside  the  ancestral  mansion  of 
the  Trescoes  —  such  had  been  Lady  Barnes's 
maiden  name  —  she  had  received  a  severe  shock. 
The  outside,  the  shell  of  the  house  —  delightful ! 


104 

But  inside! — heavens!  what  taste,  what  decora- 
tion —  what  ruin  of  a  beautiful  thing !  Half  the 
old  mantelpieces  gone,  the  ceilings  spoiled,  the 
decorations  "busy,"  pretentious,  overdone,  and 
nothing  left  to  console  her  but  an  ugly  row  of 
bad  Lelys  and  worse  Highmores  —  the  most 
despicable  collection  of  family  portraits  she 
had  ever  set  eyes  upon! 

Roger  had  looked  unhappy.  "It  was  father 
and  mother  did  it,"  he  admitted  penitently. 
"But  after  all,  Daphne,  you  know  they  are 
frescoes!" — this  with  a  defensive  and  pro- 
tecting glance  at  the  Lelys. 

Daphne  was  sorry  for  it.  Her  mouth  tight- 
ened, and  certain  lines  appeared  about  it  which 
already  prophesied  what  the  years  would  make 
of  the  young  face.  Yet  it  was  a  pretty  mouth  - 
the  mouth,  above  all,  of  one  with  no  doubts  at 
all  as  to  her  place  and  rights  in  the  world. 
Lady  Barnes  had  pronounced  it  "common" 
in  her  secret  thoughts  before  she  had  known  its 
owner  six  weeks.  But  the  adjective  had  never 
yet  escaped  the  "bulwark  of  the  teeth."  Out- 
wardly the  mother  and  daughter-in-law  were 
still  on  good  terms.  It  was  indeed  but  a  week 
since  the  son  and  his  wife  had  arrived  —  with 
their  baby  girl  —  at  Heston  Park,  after  a  summer 
of  yachting  and  fishing  in  Norway;  since  Lady 
Barnes  had  journeyed  thither  from  London  to 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          105 

meet  them;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  French  had 
accepted  an  urgent  invitation  from  Roger, 
quite  sufficiently  backed  by  Daphne,  to  stay 
for  a  few  days  with  Mr.  French's  old  pupil, 
before  the  reopening  of  Eton. 

During  that  time  there  had  been  no  open 
quarrels  of  any  kind;  but  Elsie  French  was  a 
sensitive  creature,  and  she  had  been  increasingly 
aware  of  friction  and  annoyance  behind  the 
scenes.  And  now  here  was  Lady  Barnes  let 
loose!  and  Daphne  might  appear  at  any 
moment,  before  she  could  be  re-caged. 

"She  puts  you  down  so!"  cried  that  lady, 
making  gestures  with  the  paper-knife  she  had 
just  been  employing  on  the  pages  of  a  Mudie 
book.  "If  I  tell  her  that  something  or  other  — 
it  does  n't  matter  what  —  cost  at  least  a  great 
deal  of  money,  she  has  a  way  of  smiling  at 
you  that  is  positively  insulting!  She  does  n't 
trouble  to  argue;  she  begins  to  laugh,  and 
raises  her  eyebrows.  I  —  I  always  feel  as  if 
she  had  struck  me  in  the  face!  I  know  I 
ought  n't  to  speak  like  this;  I  had  n't  meant 
to  do  it,  especially  to  a  country-woman  of  hers, 
as  you  are." 

"Am  I?"  said  Elsie,  in  a  puzzled  voice. 

Lady  Barnes  opened  her  eyes  in  astonishment, 

"I  meant"  -the  explanation  was  hurried 
—  "I  thought  —  Mrs.  Barnes  was  a  South 


106          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

American  ?  Her  mother  was  Spanish,  of  course; 
you  see  it  in  Daphne." 

'Yes;  in  her  wonderful  eyes,"  said  Mrs. 
French  warmly;  "and  her  grace  —  isn't  she 
graceful!  My  husband  says  she  moves  like  a 
sea-wTave.  She  has  given  her  eyes  to  the  child." 

"Ah!  and  other  things  too,  I'm  afraid!" 
cried  Lady  Barnes,  carried  away.  "But  here 
is  the  baby." 

For  the  sounds  of  a  childish  voice  were 
heard  echoing  in  the  domed  hall  outside.  Small 
feet  came  pattering,  and  the  drawing-room  door 
was  burst  open  by  Roger  Barnes,  holding  a 
little  girl  of  nearly  two  and  a  half  by  the  hand. 

Lady  Barnes  composed  herself.  It  is  neces- 
sary to  smile  at  children,  and  she  endeavoured 
to  satisfy  her  own  sense  of  it. 

"Come  in,  Beatty;  come  and  kiss  granny!" 
And  Lady  Barnes  held  out  her  arms. 

But  the  child  stood  still,  surveyed  her  grand- 
mother with  a  pair  of  startling  eyes,  and  then, 
turning,  made  a  rush  for  the  door.  But  her 
father  was  too  quick  for  her.  He  closed  it  with 
a  laugh,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  it.  The 
child  did  not  cry,  but,  with  flaming  cheeks,  she 
began  to  beat  her  father's  knees  with  her 
small  fists. 

"Go  and  kiss  granny,  darling,"  said  Roger, 
stroking  her  dark  head. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          107 

Beatty  turned  again,  put  both  her  hands 
behind  her,  and  stood  immovable. 

"Not  kiss  granny,"  she  said  firmly.  "Don't 
love  granny." 

"Oh,  Beatty" --Mrs.  French  knelt  down 
beside  her  -  "come  and  be  a  good  little  girl,  and 
I  '11  show  you  picture-books." 

"I  not  Beatty -- 1  Jemima  Ann,"  said  the 
small  thin  voice.  "Not  be  a  dood  dirl — do 
upstairs." 

She  looked  at  her  father  again,  and  then, 
evidently  perceiving  that  he  was  not  to  be 
moved  by  force,  she  changed  her  tactics.  Her 
delicate,  elfish  face  melted  into  the  sweetest 
smile;  she  stood  on  tiptoe,  holding  out  to  him 
her  tiny  arms.  With  a  laugh  of  irrepressible 
pride  and  pleasure,  Roger  stooped  to  her  and 
lifted  her  up.  She  nestled  on  his  shoulder  —  a 
small  Odalisque,  dark,  lithe,  and  tawny,  beside 
her  handsome,  fair-skinned  father.  And  Roger's 
manner  of  holding  and  caressing  her  showred  the 
passionate  affection  with  wrhich  he  regarded  her. 

He  again  urged  her  to  kiss  her  grandmother; 
but  the  child  again  shook  her  head.  'Then," 
said  he  craftily,  "father  must  kiss  granny.'* 
And  he  began  to  cross  the  room. 

But  Lady  Barnes  stopped  him,  not  without 
dignity.  "Better  not  press  it,  Roger:  another 
time." 


108          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Barnes  laughed,  and  yielded.  He  carried 
the  child  away,  murmuring  to  her,  "Naughty, 
naughty  'ittie  girl!"  -a  remark  which  Beatty, 
tucked  under  his  ear,  and  complacently  sucking 
her  thumb,  received  with  complete  indifference. 

"There,  you  see!"  said  the  grandmother, 
with  slightly  flushed  cheeks,  as  the  door  closed: 
"the  child  has  been  already  taught  to  dislike 
me,  and  if  Roger  had  attempted  to  kiss  me,  she 
would  probably  have  struck  me." 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Mrs.  French.  "She  is  a 
loving  little  thing." 

"Except  when  she  is  jealous,"  said  Lady 
Barnes,  with  significance.  "I  told  you  she  has 
inherited  more  than  her  eyes." 

Mrs.  French  rose.  She  was  determined  not 
to  discuss  her  hostess  any  more,  and  she  walked 
over  to  the  bow  window  as  though  to  look  at 
the  prospects  of  the  weather,  which  had  threat- 
ened rain.  But  Roger's  mother  was  not  to  be 
repressed.  Resentment  and  antagonism,  nur- 
tured on  a  hundred  small  incidents  and  trifling 
jars,  and,  to  begin  with,  a  matter  of  tempera- 
ment, had  come  at  last  to  speech,  And  in 
this  charming  New  Englander,  the  wife  of 
Roger's  best  friend,  sympathetic,  tender,  with 
a  touch  in  her  of  the  nun  and  the  saint,  Lady 
Barnes  could  not  help  trying  to  find  a  supporter. 
She  was  a  much  weaker  person  than  her  square 


109 

build  and  her  double  chin  would  have  led  the 
bystander  to  suppose;  and  her  feelings  had 
been  hurt. 

So  that  when  Mrs.  French  returned  to  say 
that  the  sun  seemed  to  be  coming  out,  her  com- 
panion, without  heeding,  went  on,  with  emotion: 
"It 's  my  son  I  am  thinking  of,  Mrs.  French.  I 
know  you  're  safe,  and  that  Roger  depends  upon 
Mr.  French  more  than  upon  anyone  else  in  the 
world,  so  I  can't  help  just  saying  a  word  to  you 
about  my  anxiety.  You  know,  when  Roger 
married,  I  don't  think  he  was  much  in  love  —  in 
fact,  I  'm  sure  he  was  n't.  But  now  —  it 's  quite 
different.  Roger  has  a  very  soft  heart,  and 
he  's  very  domestic.  He  was  always  the  best 
of  sons  to  me,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  married 
he  became  the  best  of  husbands.  He  's  devoted 
to  Daphne  now,  and  you  sec  how  he  adores 
the  child.  But  the  fact  is,  there  's  a  person 
in  this  neighbourhood"  (Lady  Barnes  lowered 
her  voice  and  looked  round  her)  --"I  only 
knew  it  for  certain  this  morning  -  -  who 
.  .  .  well,  who  might  make  trouble.  And 
Daphne's  temper  is  so  passionate  and  uncon- 
trolled that-  -" 

"Dear  Lady  Barnes,  please  don't  tell  me 
any  secrets!"  Elsie  French  implored,  and  laid 
a  restraining  hand  on  the  mother's  arm,  ready, 
indeed,  to  take  up  her  work  and  fly.  But  Lady 


110          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Barnes's  chair  stood  between  her  and  the  door, 
and  the  occupant  of  it  was  substantial. 

Laura  Barnes  hesitated,  and  in  the  pause 
two  persons  appeared  upon  the  garden  path 
outside,  coming  towards  the  open  windows  of 
the  drawing  -  room.  One  was  Mrs.  Roger 
Barnes;  the  other  was  a  man,  remarkably  tall 
and  slender,  with  a  stoop  like  that  of  an  over- 
grown schoolboy,  silky  dark  hair  and  moustache, 
and  pale  gray  eyes. 

"Dr.  Lelius!"  said  Elsie,  in  astonishment. 
"Was  Daphne  expecting  him?" 

"Who  is  Dr.  Lelius?"  asked  Lady  Barnes, 
putting  up  her  eyeglass. 

Mrs.  French  explained  that  he  was  a  South 
German  art-critic,  from  Wiirzburg,  with  a  great 
reputation.  She  had  already  met  him  at  Eton 
and  at  Oxford. 

"Another  expert!"  said  Lady  Barnes  with 
a  shrug. 

The  pair  passed  the  window,  absorbed 
apparently  in  conversation.  Mrs.  French 
escaped.  Lady  Barnes  was  left  to  discontent 
and  solitude. 

But  the  solitude  was  not  for  long. 

When  Elsie  French  descended  for  tea,  an 
hour  later,  she  was  aware,  from  a  considerable 
distance,  of  people  and  tumult  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Daphne's  soprano  voice  —  agreeable, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          111 

but  making  its  mark  always,  like  its  owner  - 
could  be  heard  running  on.     The  young  mistress 
of  the  house  seemed  to  be  admonishing,  instruc- 
ting, someone.     Could  it  be  her  mother-in-law  ? 

When  Elsie  entered,  Daphne  was  walking 
up  and  down  in  excitement. 

"One  cannot  really  live  with  bad  pictures 
because  they  happen  to  be  one's  ancestors! 
We  won't  do  them  any  harm,  mamma!  of 
course  not.  There  is  a  room  upstairs  where  they 
can  be  stored  —  most  carefully  —  and  anybody 
who  is  interested  in  them  can  go  and  look  at 
them.  If  they  had  only  been  left  as  they  were 
painted!  — not  by  Lely,  of  course,  but  by  some 
drapery  man  in  his  studio  —  passe  encore!  they 
might  have  been  just  bearable.  But  you  see 
some  wretched  restorer  went  and  daubed  them 
all  over  a  few  years  ago." 

"We  went  to  the  best  man  we  could  find! 
We  took  the  best  advice!"  cried  Lady  Barnes, 
sitting  stiff  and  crimson  in  a  deep  arm-chair, 
opposite  the  luckless  row  of  portraits  that 
Daphne  was  denouncing. 

"I  'm  sure  you  did.  But  then,  you  see, 
nobody  knew  anything  at  all  about  it  in  those 
days.  The  restorers  were  all  murderers.  Ask 
Dr.  Lelius." 

Daphne  pointed  to  the  stranger,  who  was 
leaning  against  an  arm-chair  beside  her  in  an 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

embarrassed  attitude,  as  though  he  were 
endeavouring  to  make  the  chair  a  buffer  between 
himself  and  Lady  Barnes. 

Dr.  Lelius  bowed. 

''It  is  a  modern  art,"  he  said  with  diffidence, 
and  an  accent  creditably  slight-  "a  quite 
modern  art.  We  hafe  a  great  man  at  Wiirzburg." 

"I  don't  suppose  he  professes  to  know 
anything  about  English  pictures,  does  he?" 
asked  Lady  Barnes  with  scorn. 

"Ach! —  I  do  not  propose  that  Mrs.  Barnes 
entrust  him  wid  dese  pictures,  Madame.  It  is 
now  too  late." 

And  the  willowy  German  looked,  with  a 
half-repressed  smile,  at  the  row  of  pictures 
—  all  staring  at  the  bystander  with  the  same 
saucer  eyes,  the  same  wooden  arms,  and  the 
same  brilliance  of  modern  paint  and  varnish, 
which  not  even  the  passage  of  four  years  since 
it  was  applied  had  been  able  greatly  to  subdue. 

Lady  Barnes  lifted  shoulders  and  eyes  —  a 
woman's  angry  protest  against  the  tyranny 
of  knowledge. 

"All  the  same,  they  are  my  forbears,  my 
kith  and  kin,"  she  said,  with  emphasis.  "But 
of  course  Mrs.  Barnes  is  mistress  here :  I  suppose 
she  will  do  as  she  pleases." 

The  German  stared  politely  at  the  carpet. 
It  was  now  Daphne's  turn  to  shrug.  She  threw 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          113 

herself  into  a  chair,  with  very  red  cheeks,  one 
foot  hanging  over  the  other,  and  the  fingers 
of  her  hands,  which  shone  with  diamonds, 
tapping  the  chair  impatiently.  Her  dress  of  a 
delicate  pink,  touched  here  and  there  with  black, 
her  wide  black  hat,  and  the  eyes  which  glowed 
from  the  small  pointed  face  beneath  it;  the 
tumbling  masses  of  her  dark  hair  as  contrasted 
with  her  general  lightness  and  slenderness;  the 
red  of  the  lips,  the  wrhiteness  of  the  hands  and 
brow,  the  dainty  irregularity  of  feature:  these 
things  made  a  Watteau  sketch  of  her,  all  pure 
colour  and  lissomeness,  with  dots  and  scratches 
of  intense  black.  Daphne  was  much  hand- 
somer than  she  had  been  as  a  girl,  but  also  a 
trifle  less  refined.  All  her  points  were  intensi- 
fied —  her  eyes  had  more  flame;  the  damask  of 
her  cheek  was  deeper;  her  grace  was  wilder, 
her  voice  a  little  shriller  than  of  old. 

While  the  uncomfortable  silence  which  the 
two  women  had  made  around  them  still  lasted, 
Roger  Barnes  appeared  on  the  garden  steps. 

"Hullo!  any  tea  going?"  He  came  in, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  looked  from  his 
mother  to  Daphne,  from  Daphne  to  his  mother, 
and  laughed  uncomfortably. 

"Still  bothering  about  those  beastly  pic- 
tures?" he  said  as  he  helped  himself  to  a 
cup  of  tea. 


114          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

''Thank  you,  Roger!"  said  Lady  Barnes. 

"I  did  n't  mean  any  harm,  mother."  He 
crossed  over  to  her  and  sat  down  beside  her. 
"I  say,  Daphne,  I  've  got  an  idea.  Why 
should  n't  mother  have  them  ?  She  's  going  to 
take  a  house,  she  says.  Let 's  hand  them  all 
over  to  her!" 

Lady  Barnes's  lips  trembled  with  indigna- 
tion. "The  Trescoes  who  were  born  and  died 
in  this  house,  belong  here!"  The  tone  of  the 
words  showed  the  stab  to  feeling  and  self-love. 
"It  would  be  a  sacrilege  to  move  them." 

"Well  then,  let's  move  ourselves!"  ex- 
claimed Daphne,  springing  up.  "We  can  let 
this  house  again,  can't  we,  Roger?" 

"We  can,  I  suppose,"  said  Roger,  munching 
his  bread  and  butter;  "but  we  're  not  going  to." 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  quietly  at  her. 

"I  think  we'd  better!"  The  tone  was 
imperious.  Daphne,  with  her  thin  arms  and 
hands  locked  behind  her,  paused  beside  her 
husband. 

Dr.  Lelius,  stealthily  raising  his  eyes, 
observed  the  two.  A  strange  little  scene  —  not 
English  at  all.  The  English,  he  understood, 
were  a  phlegmatic  people.  What  had  this  little 
Southerner  to  do  among  them?  And  what 
sort  of  fellow  was  the  husband  ? 

It  was  evident  that  some  mute  coloquy  passed 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          115 

between  the  husband  and  wife  —  disapproval 
on  his  part,  attempt  to  assert  authority, 
defiance,  on  hers.  Then  the  fair-skinned  Eng- 
lish face,  confronting  Daphne,  wavered  and 
weakened,  and  Roger  smiled  into  the  eyes  trans- 
fixing him. 

"Ah!"  thought  Lelius,  "she  has  him,  de 
poor  fool!" 

Roger,  coming  over  to  his  mother,  began  a 
murmured  conversation.  Daphne,  still  breath- 
ing quick,  consented  to  talk  to  Dr.  Lelius  and 
Mrs.  French.  Lelius,  who  travelled  widely, 
had  brought  her  news  of  some  pictures  in  a 
chateau  of  the  Bourbonnais  —  pictures  that  her 
whole  mind  was  set  on  acquiring.  Elsie  French 
noticed  the  expertise  of  her  talk;  the  intellectual 
development  it  implied;  the  passion  of  will 
which  accompanied  it.  "To  the  dollar,  all 
things  are  possible"  -  one  might  have  phrased 
it  so. 

The  soft  September  air  came  in  through 
the  open  windows,  from  a  garden  flooded  with 
western  sun.  Suddenly  through  the  subdued 
talk  which  filled  the  drawing-room  —  each  group 
in  it  avoiding  the  other  —  the  s.ound  of  a  motor 
arriving  made  itself  heard. 

"Heavens!  who  on  earth  knows  we  're  here  ?" 
said  Barnes,  looking  up. 

For  they  had  only  been  camping  a  week  in 


116          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

the  house,  far  too  busy  to  think  of  neighbours. 
They  sat  expectant  and  annoyed,  reproaching 
each  other  with  not  having  told  the  butler  to 
say  "Not  at  home."  Lady  Barnes's  attitude 
had  in  it  something  else  —  a  little  anxiety;  but 
it  escaped  notice.  Steps  came  through  the  hall, 
and  the  butler,  throwing  open  the  door, 
announced  - 

"Mrs.  Fairmile." 

Roger  Barnes  sprang  to  his  feet.  His  mother, 
with  a  little  gasp,  caught  him  by  the  arm 
instinctively.  There  was  a  general  rise  and  a 
movement  of  confusion,  till  the  newcomer, 
advancing,  offered  her  hand  to  Daphne. 

"I  am  afraid,  Mrs.  Barnes,  I  am  disturbing 
you  all.  The  butler  told  me  you  had  only 
been  here  a  few  days.  But  Lady  Barnes  and 
your  husband  are  such  old  friends  of  mine 
that,  as  soon  as  I  heard  —  through  our  old 
postmistress,  I  think  —  that  you  had  arrived,  I 
thought  I  might  venture." 

The  charming  voice  dropped,  and  the  speaker 
waited,  smiling,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Daphne. 
Daphne  had  taken  her  hand  in  some  bewilder- 
ment, and  was  now  looking  at  her  husband  for 
assistance.  It  was  clear  to  Elsie  French,  in  the 
background,  that  Daphne  neither  knew  the 
lady  nor  the  lady's  name,  and  that  the  visit 
had  taken  her  entirely  by  surprise. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          117 

Barnes  recovered  himself  quickly.  "I  had 
no  idea  you  were  in  these  parts,"  he  said,  as  he 
brought  a  chair  forward  for  the  visitor,  and 
stood  beside  her  a  moment. 

Lady  Barnes,  observing  him,  as  she  stiffly 
greeted  the  new-comer  —  his  cool  manner,  his 
deepened  colour  —  felt  the  usual  throb  of  mater- 
nal pride  in  him,  intensified  by  alarm  and 
excitement. 

"Oh,  I  am  staying  a  day  or  two  with  Duch- 
ess Mary,"  said  the  new-comer.  "She  is  a 
little  older  —  and  no  less  gouty,  poor  dear, 
than  she  used  to  be.  Mrs.  Barnes,  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  of  you  —  though  you  may  n't 
know  anything  about  me.  Ah!  Dr.  Lelius?" 

The  German,  bowing  awkwardly,  yet  radiant, 
came  forward  to  take  the  hand  extended  to  him. 

"They  did  nothing  but  talk  about  you  at 
the  Louvre,  when  I  was  there  last  week,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  confidential  nod.  'You  have 
made  them  horribly  uncomfortable  about  some  of 
their  things.  Is  n't  it  a  pity  to  know  too  much  ?" 

She  turned  toward  Daphne.  "I  'm  afraid 
that 's  your  case  too."  She  smiled,  and  the 
smile  lit  up  a  face  full  of  delicate  lines  and 
wrinkles,  which  no  effort  had  been  made  to 
disguise;  a  tired  face,  where  the  eyes  spoke 
from  caverns  of  shade,  yet  with  the  most  appeal- 
ing and  persuasive  beauty. 


118          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"Do  you  mean  about  pictures  ?"  said  Daphne, 
a  little  coldly.  "I  don't  know  as  much  as  Dr. 
Lelius." 

Humour  leaped  into  the  eyes  fixed  upon  her; 
but  Mrs.  Fairmile  only  said:  "That 's  not 
given  to  the  rest  of  us  mortals.  But  after  all, 
having  's  better  than  knowing.  Don't  —  don't 
you  possess  the  Vitali  Signorelli  ?" 

Her  voice  was  most  musical  and  flattering. 
Daphne  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  'Yes,  we 
do.  It 's  in  London  now  —  waiting  till  we  can 
find  a  place  for  it." 

;'You  must  let  me  make  a  pilgrimage  — 
when  it  comes.  But  you  know  you  'd  find  a 
number  of  things  at  Upcott  —  where  1 3m  staying 
now  —  that  would  interest  you.  I  forget 
whether  you  've  met  the  Duchess  ?" 

"This  is  our  first  week  here,"  said  Roger, 
interposing.  "The  house  has  been  Let  till  now. 
We  came  down  to  see  what  could  be  made 
of  it." 

His  tone  was  only  just  civil.  His  mother, 
looking  on,  said  to  herself  that  he  was  angry 
-  and  with  good  reason. 

But  Mrs.  Fairmile  still  smiled. 

"Ah!  the  Lelys!"  she  cried,  raising  her 
hand  slightly  toward  the  row  of  portraits  on 
the  wall.  "The  dear  impossible  things!  Are 
you  still  discussing  them  —  as  we  used  to  do?" 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          119 

Daphne  started.  'You  know  this  house, 
then?" 

The  smile  broadened  into  a  laugh  of  amuse- 
ment, as  Mrs.  Fairmile  turned  to  Roger's 
mother. 

"Don't  I,  dear  Lady  Barnes  —  don't  I  know 
this  house  ?" 

Lady  Barnes  seemed  to  straighten  in  her 
chair.  "Well,  you  were  here  often  enough  to 
know  it,"  she  said  abruptly.  "Daphne,  Mrs. 
Fairmile  is  a  distant  cousin  of  ours." 

"Distant,  but  quite  enough  to  swear  by!" 
said  the  visitor,  gaily.  'Yes,  Mrs.  Barnes,  I 
knew  this  house  very  well  in  old  days.  It  has 
many  charming  points."  She  looked  round 
with  a  face  that  had  suddenly  become  coolly 
critical,  an  embodied  intelligence. 

Daphne,  as  though  divining  for  the  first 
time  a  listener  worthy  of  her  steel,  began  to 
talk  with  some  rapidity  of  the  changes  she  wished 
to  make.  She  talked  with  an  evident  desire  to 
show  off,  to  make  an  impression.  Mrs.  Fairmile 
listened  attentively,  occasionally  throwing  in  a 
word  of  criticism  or  comment,  in  the  softest, 
gentlest  voice.  But  somehow,  whenever  she 
spoke,  Daphne  felt  vaguely  irritated.  She  was 
generally  put  slightly  in  the  wrong  by  her 
visitor,  and  Mrs.  Fairmile's  extraordinary 
knowledge  of  Heston  Park,  and  of  everything 


120          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

connected  with  it,  was  so  odd  and  disconcerting. 
She  had  a  laughing  way,  moreover,  of  appealing 
to  Roger  Barnes  himself  to  support  a  recollec- 
tion or  an  opinion,  which  presently  produced  a 
contraction  of  Daphne's  brows.  Who  was  this 
woman  ?  A  cousin  —  a  cousin  who  knew  every 
inch  of  the  house,  and  seemed  to  be  one  of 
Roger's  closest  friends  ?  It  was  really  too 
strange  that  in  all  these  years  Roger  should 
never  have  said  a  word  about  her! 

The  red  mounted  in  Daphne's  cheek.  She 
began,  moreover,  to  feel  herself  at  a  disadvantage 
to  which  she  was  not  accustomed.  Dr.  Lelius, 
meanwhile,  turned  to  Mrs.  Fairmile,  whenever 
she  was  allowed  to  speak,  with  a  joyous  yet 
inarticulate  deference  he  had  never  shown  to  his 
hostess.  They  understood  each  other  at  a  word 
or  a  glance.  Beside  them  Daphne,  writh  all  her 
cleverness,  soon  appeared  as  a  child  for  whom 
one  makes  allowances. 

A  vague  anger  swelled  in  her  throat.  She 
noticed,  too,  Roger's  silence  and  Lady  Barnes's 
discomfort.  There  was  clearly  something  here 
that  had  been  kept  from  her  —  something  to 
be  unravelled! 

Suddenly  the  new-comer  rose.  Mrs.  Fair- 
mile  wore  a  dress  of  some  pale  gray  stuff,  cob- 
web-light and  transparent,  over  a  green  satin. 
It  had  the  effect  of  sea-water,  and  her  gray  hat, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

witn  its  pale  green  wreath,  framed  the  golden- 
gray  of  her  hair.  Every  one  of  her  few  adorn- 
ments was  exquisite  —  so  was  her  grace  as 
she  moved.  Daphne's  pink-and-black  vivacity 
beside  her  seemed  a  pinchbeck  thing. 

"Well,  now,  when  will  you  all  come  to 
Upcott?"  Mrs.  Fairmile  said  graciously,  as 
she  shook  hands.  "The  Duchess  will  be 
enchanted  to  see  you  any  day,  and  - 

"Thank  you!  but  we  really  can't  come  so 
far,"  said  a  determined  voice.  "We  have  only  a 
shaky  old  motor  —  our  new  one  is  n't  ready  yet 
—  and  besides,  we  want  all  our  time  for  the 
house." 

'You  make  him  work  so  hard?" 

Mrs.  Fairmile,  laughing,  pointed  to  the 
speaker.  Roger  looked  up  involuntarily,  and 
Daphne  saw  the  look. 

"Roger  has  nothing  to  do,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"Thank  you  very  much:  we  will  certainly  come. 
I  '11  write  to  you.  How  many  miles  did  you 
say  it  was?" 

"Oh,  nothing  for  a  motor!  —  twenty-five.  We 
used  to  think  it  nothing  for  a  ride,  did  n't  we  ?" 

The  speaker,  who  was  just  passing  through 
the  door,  turned  towards  Roger,  who  with 
Lelius,  was  escorting  her,  with  a  last  gesture  — 
gay,  yet,  like  all  her  gestures,  charged  with  a 
slight  yet  deliberate  significance. 


122          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

They  disappeared.  Daphne  walked  to  the 
window,  biting  her  lip. 

As  she  stood  there  Herbert  French  came 
into  the  room,  looking  a  little  shy  and  ill  at 
ease,  and  behind  him  three  persons,  a  clergy- 
man in  an  Archdeacon's  apron  and  gaiters, 
and  two  ladies.  Daphne,  perceiving  them 
sideways  in  a  mirror  to  her  right,  could  not 
repress  a  gesture  and  muttered  sound  of  annoy- 
ance. 

French  introduced  Archdeacon  Mountford, 
his  wife  and  sister.  Roger,  it  seemed,  had  met 
them  in  the  hall,  and  sent  them  in.  He  him- 
self had  been  carried  off  on  some  business  by 
the  head  keeper. 

Daphne  turned  ungraciously.  Her  colour 
was  very  bright,  her  eyes  a  little  absent  and 
wild.  The  two  ladies,  both  clad  in  pale  brown 
stuffs,  large  mushroom  hats,  and  stout  country 
boots,  eyed  her  nervously,  and  as  they  sat 
down,  at  her  bidding,  they  left  the  Archdeacon 
-  who  was  the  vicar  of  the  neighbouring  town 
—  to  explain,  with  much  amiable  stammering, 
that  seeing  the  Duchess's  carriage  at  the  front 
door,  as  they  were  crossing  the  park,  they  pre- 
sumed that  visitors  were  admitted,  and  had 
ventured  to  call. 

Daphne    received    the    explanation    without 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  123 

any  cordiality.  She  did  indeed  bid  the  callers 
sit  down,  and  ordered  some  fresh  tea.  But  she 
took  no  pains  to  entertain  them,  and  if  Lady 
Barnes  and  Herbert  French  had  not  come  to 
the  rescue,  they  would  have  fared  but  ill. 
The  Archdeacon,  in  fact,  did  come  to  grief. 
For  him  Mrs.  Barnes  was  just  a  "foreigner," 
imported  from  some  unknown  and,  of  course, 
inferior  milieu,  one  who  had  never  been  "a 
happy  English  child,"  and  must  therefore  be 
treated  with  indulgence.  He  endeavoured  to 
talk  to  her  —  kindly  —  about  her  country.  A 
branch  of  his  own  family,  he  informed  her,  had 
settled  about  a  hundred  years  before  this  date 
in  the  United  States.  He  gave  her,  at  some 
length,  the  genealogy  of  the  branch,  then  of 
the  main  stock  to  which  he  himself  belonged, 
presuming  that  she  was,  at  any  rate,  acquainted 
with  the  name  ?  It  was,  he  said,  his  strong 
opinion  that  American  women  were  very 
"bright."  For  himself  he  could  not  say  that 
he  even  disliked  the  accent,  it  was  so  "quaint." 
Did  Mrs.  Barnes  know  many  of  the  American 
bishops  ?  He  himself  had  met  a  large  number 
of  them  at  a  reception  at  the  Church  House,  but 
it  had  really  made  him  quite  uncomfortable! 
They  wore  no  official  dress,  and  there  was  he  — 
a  mere  Archdeacon !  —  in  gaiters.  And,  of 
course,  no  one  thought  of  calling  them  "my 


124          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

lord."  It  certainly  was  very  curious  —  to  an 
Englishman.  And  Methodist  bishops !  —  such  as 
he  was  told  America  possessed  in  plenty  --that 
was  still  more  curious.  One  of  the  Episco- 
palian bishops,  however,  had  preached  —  in 
Westminster  Abbey  —  a  remarkable  sermon,  on 
a  very  sad  subject,  not  perhaps  a  subject  to  be 
discussed  in  a  drawing-room  —  but  still  - 

Suddenly  the  group  on  the  other  side  of 
the  room  became  aware  that  the  Archdeacon's 
amiable  prosing  had  been  sharply  interrupted 

—  that  Daphne,  not  he,  was  holding  the  field. 
A  gust  of  talk  arose — Daphne  declaiming,  the 
Archdeacon,  after  a  first  pause  of  astonishment, 
changing    aspect    and    tone.     French,    looking 
across    the    room,    saw    the    mask    of    conven- 
tional amiability  stripped  from  what  was  really 
a  strong  and  rather  tyrannical  face.     The  man's 
prominent  mouth  and  long  upper  lip  emerged. 
He   drew   his   chair  back  from   Daphne's;    he 
tried  once  or  twice  to  stop  or  argue  with  her, 
and  finally  he  rose  abruptly. 

"My    dear!"    -his    wife    turned    hastily  — 
"We  must  not  detain  Mrs.  Barnes  longer!" 
The   two   ladies   looked   at   the   Archdeacon 

—  the  god  of  their  idolatry;    then  at  Daphne. 
Hurriedly,  like  birds  frightened  by  a  shot,  they 
crossed  the  room  and  just  touched  their  hostess's 
hand;    the  Archdeacon,   making  up   for  their 


125 

precipitancy  by  a  double  dose  of  dignity,  bowed 
himself  out;  the  door  closed  behind  them. 

"Daphne! — my  dear!  what  is  the  matter?" 
cried  Lady  Barnes,  in  dismay. 

"He  spoke  to  me  impertinently  about  my 
country!"  said  Daphne,  turning  upon  her, 
her  black  eyes  blazing,  her  cheeks  white  with 
excitement. 

"The  Archdeacon! — he  is  always  so  polite!" 

"He  talked  like  a  fool  —  about  things  he 
does  n't  understand!"  was  Daphne's  curt  reply, 
as  she  gathered  up  her  hat  and  some  letters, 
and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"About  what  ?  My  dear  Daphne!  He  could 
not  possibly  have  meant  to  offend  you!  Could 
he,  Mr.  French?"  Lady  Barnes  turned 
plaintively  towards  her  very  uncomfortable 
companions. 

Daphne  confronted  her. 

"If  he  chooses  to  think  America  immoral 
and  degraded  because  American  divorce  laws 
are  different  from  the  English  laws,  let  him 
think  it! — but  he  has  no  business  to  air  his 
views  to  an  American  —  at  a  first  visit,  too!" 
said  Daphne  passionately,  and,  drawing  herself 
up,  she  swept  out  of  the  room,  leaving  the 
others  dumfoundered. 

"Oh  dear!  oh  dear!"  wailed  Lady  Barnes. 
"And  the  Archdeacon  is  so  important!  Daphne 


126  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

might  have  been  rude  to  anybody  else  —  but  not 
the  Archdeacon!" 

"How  did  they  manage  to  get  into  such  a  sub- 
ject —  so  quickly  ?"  asked  Elsie  in  bewilderment. 

"I  suppose  he  took  it  for  granted  that  Daphne 
agreed  with  him!  All  decent  people  do." 

Lady  Barnes's  wrath  was  evident  —  so  was 
her  indiscretion.  Elsie  French  applied  herself 
to  soothing  her,  while  Herbert  French  dis- 
appeared into  the  garden  with  a  book.  His 
wife,  however,  presently  observed  from  the 
drawing-room  that  he  was  not  reading.  He 
was  pacing  the  lawn,  with  his  hands  behind 
him,  and  his  eyes  on  the  grass.  The  slight, 
slowly-moving  figure  stood  for  meditation,  and 
Elsie  French  knew  enough  to  understand  that 
the  incidents  of  the  afternoon  might  well 
supply  any  friend  of  Roger  Barnes's  with  food 
for  meditation.  Herbert  had  not  been  in  the 
drawing-room  when  Mrs.  Fairmile  was  calling, 
but  no  doubt  he  had  met  her  in  the  hall  when 
she  was  on  her  way  to  her  carriage. 

Meanwhile  Daphne,  in  her  own  room,  was 
also  employed  in  meditation.  She  had  thrown 
herself,  frowning,  into  a  chair  beside  a  window 
which  overlooked  the  park.  The  landscape 
had  a  gentle  charm  —  spreading  grass,  low  hills, 
and  scattered  woods  —  under  a  warm  Septem- 
ber sun.  But  it  had  no  particular  accent,  and 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  127 

Daphne  thought  it  both  tame  and  depressing; 
like  an  English  society  made  up  of  Archdeacon 
Mountfords  and  their  women-kind!  What  a 
futile,  irritating  man! — and  what  dull  creatures 
were  the  wife  and  daughter! — mere  echoes  of 
their  lord  and  master.  She  had  behaved  badly, 
of  course;  in  a  few  days  she  supposed  the  report 
of  her  outburst  would  be  all  over  the  place. 
She  did  not  care.  Even  for  Roger's  sake  she 
was  not  going  to  cringe  to  these  poor  provincial 
standards. 

And  all  the  time  she  knew  very  well  that  it 
was  not  the  Archdeacon  and  his  fatuities  that 
were  really  at  fault.  The  afternoon  had  been 
decided  not  by  the  Mountfords'  call,  but  by 
that  which  had  preceded  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MRS.  BARNES,  however,  made  no  imme- 
diate reference  to  the  matter  which 
was  in  truth  filling  her  mind.  She  avoided 
her  husband  and  mother-in-law,  both  of  whom 
were  clearly  anxious  to  capture  her  attention; 
and,  by  way  of  protecting  herself  from  them, 
she  spent  the  late  afternoon  in  looking  through 
Italian  photographs  with  Dr.  Lelius. 

But  about  seven  o'clock  Roger  found  her 
lying  on  her  sofa,  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her  head  —  frowning  —  the  lips  working. 

He  came  in  rather  consciously,  glancing  at 
his  wife  in  hesitation. 

"Are  you  tired,  Daphne?" 

"No." 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  then!"  He 
stooped  over  her  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

Daphne  made  no  reply.  She  continued  to 
look  straight  before  her. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  said, 
at  last. 

"I  'm  wondering,"  said  Daphne  slowly,  "how 
many  more  cousins  and  great  friends  you  have, 
that  I  know  nothing  about.  I  think  another 

128 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  129 

time  it  would  be  civil  -  -  just  that !  —  to  give  me 
a  word  of  warning." 

Roger  pulled  at  his  moustache.  "I  hadn't 
an  idea  she  was  within  a  thousand  miles  of  this 
place!  But,  if  I  had,  I  could  n't  have  imagined 
she  would  have  the  face  to  come  here!" 

"Who  is  she?"  With  a  sudden  movement 
Daphne  turned  her  eyes  upon  him. 

"Well,  there's  no  good  making  any  bones 
about  it,"  said  the  man,  flushing.  "She  's  a 
girl  I  was  once  engaged  to,  for  a  very  short 
time,"  he  added  hastily.  "It  was  the  week 
before  my  father  died,  and  our  smash  came. 
As  soon  as  it  came  she  threw  me  over." 

Daphne's  intense  gaze,  under  the  slightly 
frowning  brows,  disquieted  him. 

"How  long  were  you  engaged  to  her?" 

"Three  weeks."  ' 

"Had  she  been  staying  here  before  that?" 

'Yes  —  she  often  stayed  here.  Daphrel 
don't  look  like  that!  She  treated  me  aboirin- 
ably;  and  before  I  married  you  I  had  come  not 
to  care  twopence  about  her." 

'You  did  care  about  her  when  you  proposed 
to  me?" 

"No!  —  not  at  all!  Of  course,  when  I  went 
out  to  New  York  I  was  sore,  because  she  had 
thrown  me  over." 

"And  I" — Daphne  made  a  scornful  lip  — 


130          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"was  the  feather-bed  to  catch  you  as  you  fell. 
It  never  occurred  to  you  that  it  might  have  been 
honourable  to  tell  me?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  —  I  never  asked  you  to 
tell  me  of  your  affairs!" 

Roger,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looked 
round  at  her  with  an  awkward  laugh. 

"I  told  you  everything!"  was  the  quick 
reply  -  -  "everything" 

Roger  uncomfortably  remembered  that  so 
indeed  it  had  been;  and  moreover  that  he  had 
been  a  good  deal  bored  at  the  time  by  Daphne's 
confessions. 

He  had  not  been  enough  in  love  with  her  - 
then  —  to  find  them  of  any  great  account.  And 
certainly  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  pay 
them  back  in  kind.  What  did  it  matter  to 
her  or  to  anyone  that  Chloe  Morant  had  made 
a  fool  of  him  ?  His  recollection  of  the  fooling, 

o' 

at  the  time  he  proposed  to  Daphne,  was  still  so 
poignant  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
speak  of  it.  And  within  a  few  months  after- 
wards he  had  practically  forgotten  it  —  and 
Chloe  too.  Of  course  he  could  not  see  her 
again,  for  the  first  time,  without  being  "a  bit 
upset";  mostly,  indeed,  by  the  boldness - 
the  brazenness  —  of  her  behaviour.  But  his 
emotions  were  of  no  tragic  strength,  and,  as 
Lady  Barnes  had  complained  to  Mrs.  French, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  131 

he  was  now  honestly  in  love  with  Daphne  and 
his  child. 

So  that  he  had  nothing  but  impatience  and 
annoyance  for  the  recollection  of  the  visit  of 
the  afternoon;  and  Daphne's  attitude  dis- 
tressed him.  Why,  she  was  as  pale  as  a  ghost! 
His  thoughts  sent  Chloe  Fairmile  to  the  deuce. 

"Look  here,  dear!"  he  said,  kneeling  down 
suddenly  beside  his  wife  -  "don't  you  get  any 
nonsense  into  your  head.  I  'm  not  the  kind 
of  fellow  who  goes  philandering  after  a  woman 
when  she  's  jilted  him.  I  took  her  measure, 
and  after  you  accepted  me  I  never  gave  her 
another  thought.  I  forgot  her,  dear  —  bag 
and  baggage!  Kiss  me,  Daphne!" 

But  Daphne  still  held  him  at  bay. 

"How  long  were  you  engaged  to  her?" 
she  repeated. 

"I've  told  you  —  three  weeks!"  said  the 
man,  reluctantly. 

"How  long  had  you  known  her?" 

"A  year  or  two.  She  was  a  distant  cousin 
of  father's.  Her  father  was  Governor  of 
Madras,  and  her  mother  was  dead.  She 
could  n't  stand  India  for  long  together,  and  she 
used  to  stay  about  with  relations.  Why  she  took 
a  fancy  to  me  I  can't  imagine.  She  's  so  booky 
and  artistic,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  that  I  never 
understood  half  the  time  what  she  was  talking 


132          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

about.     Now  you  're  just  as  clever,  you  know, 
darling,  but  I  do  understand  you." 

Roger's  conscience  made  a  few  dim  remon- 
strances. It  asked  him  whether  in  fact,  standing 
on  his  own  qualifications  and  advantages  of 
quite  a  different  kind,  he  had  not  always  felt 
himself  triumphantly  more  than  a  match  for 
Chloe  and  her  cleverness.  But  he  paid  no  heed 
to  them.  He  was  engaged  in  stroking  Daphne's 
fingers  and  studying  the  small  set  face. 

"Whom  did  she  marry?"  asked  Daphne, 
putting  an  end  to  the  stroking. 

"A  fellow  in  the  army  —  Major  Fairmile  —  a 
smart,  popular  sort  of  chap.  He  was  her 
father's  aide-de-camp  when  they  married  — 
just  after  we  did  —  and  they  've  been  in  India, 
or  Egypt,  ever  since.  They  don't  get  on,  and 
I  suppose  she  comes  and  quarters  herself  on  the 
old  Duchess  —  as  she  used  to  on  us." 

'You  seem  to  know  all  about  her!  Yes, 
I  remember  now,  I  've  heard  people  speak  of 
her  to  you.  Mrs.  Fairmile  —  Mrs.  Fairmile  - 
yes,  I  remember,"  said  Daphne,  in  a  brooding 
voice,  her  cheeks  becoming  suddenly  very  red. 
'Your  uncle  —  in  town  —  mentioned  her.  I 
did  n't  take  any  notice." 

"Why  should  you?  She  doesn't  matter  a 
fig,  either  to  you  or  to  me!" 

"It   matters    to   me  'very    much   that   these 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          133 

people  who  spoke  of  her  —  your  uncle  and  the 
others  —  knew  what  I  didn't  know!"  cried 
Daphne,  passionately.  She  stared  at  Roger, 
strangely  conscious  that  something  epoch-mak- 
ing and  decisive  had  happened.  Roger  had  had 
a  secret  from  her  all  these  years  —  that  was  what 
had  happened;  and  now  she  had  discovered  it. 
That  he  could  have  a  secret  from  her,  however, 
was  the  real  discovery.  She  felt  a  fierce  resent- 
ment, and  yet  a  kind  of  added  respect  for  him. 
All  the  time  he  had  been  the  private  owner  of 
thoughts  and  recollections  that  she  had  no 
part  in,  and  the  fact  roused  in  her  tumult  and 
bitterness.  Nevertheless  the  disturbance  which 
it  produced  in  her  sense  of  property,  the  shock 
and  anguish  of  it,  brought  back  something  of 
the  passion  of  love  she  had  felt  in  the  first 
year  of  their  marriage. 

During  these  three  years  she  had  more  than 
once  shown  herself  insanely  jealous  for  the 
merest  trifles.  But  Roger  had  always  laughed 
at  her,  and  she  had  ended  by  laughing  at  herself. 

Yet  all  the  time  he  had  had  this  secret. 
She  sat  looking  at  him  hard  with  her  astonish- 
ing eyes;  and  he  grew  more  and  more  uneasy. 

''Well,  some  of  them  knew,"  he  said,  answer- 
ing her  last  reproach.  "And  they  knew  that 
I  was  jolly  well  quit  of  her!  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  have  told  you,  Daphne  —  of  course  I  ought 


134 

—  I  'm  sorry.  But  the  fact  was  I  never  wanted 
to  think  of  her  again.  And  I  certainly  never 
want  to  see  her  again!  Why,  in  the  name  of 
goodness,  did  you  accept  that  tea-fight?" 

"Because  I  mean  to  go." 

''Then  you  '11  have  to  go  without  me,"  was 
the  incautious  reply. 

"Oh,  so  you're  afraid  of  meeting  her! 
I  shall  know  what  to  think,  if  you  don't  go." 
Daphne  sat  erect,  her  hands  clasped  round  her 
knees. 

Roger  made  a  sound  of  wrath,  and  threw 
his  cigarette  into  the  fire.  Then,  turning  round 
again  to  face  her,  he  tried  to  control  himself. 

"Look  here,  Daphne,  don't  let  us  quarrel 
about  this.  I  '11  tell  you  everything  you  want 
to  know  -  -  the  whole  beastly  story.  But  it  can't 
be  pleasant  to  me  to  meet  a  woman  who  treated 
me  as  she  did  —  and  it  ought  n't  to  be  pleasant 
to  you  either.  It  was  like  her  audacity  to  come 
this  afternoon." 

"She  simply  wants  to  get  hold  of  you  again!" 
Daphne  sprang  up  as  she  spoke  with  a  violent 
movement,  her  face  blazing. 

"Nonsense!  she  came  out  of  nothing  in 
the  world  but  curiosity,  and  because  she  likes 
making  people  uncomfortable.  She  knew  very 
well  mother  and  I  did  n't  want  her!" 

But  the  more  he  tried  to  persuade  her  the 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  135 

more  determined  was  Daphne  to  pay  the 
promised  visit,  and  that  he  should  pay  it  with 
her.  He  gave  way  at  last,  and  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  soothed  and  caressed.  Then, 
when  she  seemed  to  have  recovered  herself,  he 
gave  her  a  tragic-comic  account  of  the  three 
weeks'  engagement,  and  the  manner  in  which 
it  had  been  broken  off:  caustic  enough,  one 
might  have  thought,  to  satisfy  the  most 
unfriendly  listener.  Daphne  heard  it  all  quietly. 

Then  her  maid  came,  and  she  donned  a 
tea-go  WTL. 

When  Roger  returned,  after  dressing,  he 
found  her  still  abstracted. 

"I  suppose  you  kissed  her  ?"  she  said  abruptly, 
as  they  stood  by  the  fire  together. 

He  broke  out  in  laughter  and  annoyance,  and 
called  her  a  little  goose,  with  his  arm  round  her. 

But  she  persisted.      'You  did  kiss  her?" 

"Well,  of  course  I  did!  What  else  is  one 
engaged  for?" 

"I  'm  certain  she  wished  for  a  great  deal  of 
kissing!"  said  Daphne,  quickly. 

Roger  was  silent.  Suddenly  there  swept 
through  him  the  memory  of  the  scene  in  the 
orchard,  and  with  it  an  admission  —  wrung,  as 
it  were,  from  a  wholly  unwilling  self  —  that  it 
had  remained  for  him  a  scene  unique  and 
unapproached.  In  that  one  hour  the  "muddy 


136          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

vesture"  of  common  feeling  and  desire  that 
closed  in  his  manhood  had  taken  fire  and  burnt 
to  a  pure  flame,  fusing,  so  it  seemed,  body  and 
soul.  He  had  not  thought  of  it  for  years,  but 
now  that  he  was  made  to  think  of  it,  the  old 
thrill  returned  —  a  memory  of  something 
heavenly,  ecstatic,  far  transcending  the  common 
hours  and  the  common  earth. 

The  next  moment  he  had  thrown  the  recol- 
lection angrily  from  him.  Stooping  to  his  wife, 
he  kissed  her  warmly.  "Look  here,  Daphne! 
I  wish  you  'd  let  that  woman  alone !  Have  I 
ever  looked  at  anyone  but  you,  old  girl,  since 
that  day  at  Mount  Vernon?" 

Daphne  let  him  hold  her  close:  but  all  the 
time,  thoughts — ugly  thoughts — like  "little  mice 
stole  in  and  out."  The  notion  of  Roger  and 
that  woman,  in  the  past,  engaged  —  always 
together,  in  each  other's  arms,  tormented  her 
unendurably. 

She  did  not,  however,  say  a  word  to  Lady 
Barnes  on  the  subject.  The  morning  following 
Mrs.  Fairmile's  visit  that  lady  began  a  rather 
awkward  explanation  of  Chloe  Fairmile's  place 
in  the  family  history,  and  of  the  reasons  for 
Roger's  silence  and  her  own.  Daphne  took 
it  apparently  with  complete  indifference,  and 
managed  to  cut  it  short  in  the  middle. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  137 

Nevertheless  she  brooded  over  the  whole 
business;  and  her  resentment  showed  itself, 
first  of  all,  in  a  more  and  more  drastic  treatment 
of  Heston,  its  pictures,  decorations  and  appoint- 
ments. Lady  Barnes  dared  not  oppose  her  any 
more.  She  understood  that  if  she  were  thwarted, 
or  even  criticized,  Daphne  would  simply  decline 
to  live  there,  and  her  own  link  with  the  place 
would  be  once  more  broken.  So  she  withdrew 
angrily  from  the  scene,  and  tried  not  to  know 
what  was  going  on.  Meanwhile  a  note  of 
invitation  had  been  addressed  to  Daphne  by  the 
Duchess,  and  had  been  accepted;  Roger  had 
been  reminded,  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet, 
that  go  he  must;  and  Dr.  Lelius  had  transferred 
himself  from  Heston  to  Upcott,  and  the  com- 
panionship of  Mrs.  Fairmile. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  the  Frenches'  visit. 
Roger  and  Herbert  French  had  been  trying  to 
get  a  brace  or  two  of  partridges  on  the  long- 
neglected  and  much-poached  estate;  and  on  the 
way  home  French  expressed  a  hope  that,  now 
they  were  to  settle  at  Heston,  Roger  would  take 
up  some  of  the  usual  duties  of  the  country 
gentleman.  He  spoke  in  the  half-jesting  way 
characteristic  of  the  modern  Mentor.  The  old 
didactics  have  long  gone  out  of  fashion,  and  the 
moralist  of  to-day,  instead  of  preaching,  ore 


138          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

retundo,  must  only  "hint  a  fault  and  hesitate 
dislike."  But,  hide  it  as  he  might,  there  was 
an  ethical  and  religious  passion  in  French  that 
would  out,  and  was  soon  indeed  to  drive  him 
from  Eton  to  a  town  parish.  He  had  been 
ordained  some  two  years  before  this  date. 

It  was  this  inborn  pastoral  gift,  just  as  real 
as  the  literary  or  artistic  gifts,  and  containing 
the  same  potentialities  of  genius  as  they  which 
was  leading  him  to  feel  a  deep  anxiety  about 
the  Barnes's  menage.  It  seemed  to  him  neces- 
sary that  Daphne  should  respect  her  husband; 
and  Roger,  in  a  state  of  complete  idleness,  was 
not  altogether  respect-able. 

So,  with  much  quizzing  of  him  as  "the 
Squire,"  French  tried  to  goad  his  companion 
into  some  of  a  Squire's  duties.  "Stand  for  the 
County  Council,  old  fellow,"  he  said.  'Your 
father  was  on  it,  and  it  '11  give  you  something 
to  do." 

To  his  surprise  Roger  at  once  acquiesced. 
He  was  striding  along  in  cap  and  knicker- 
bockers, his  curly  hair  still  thick  and  golden 
on  his  temples,  his  clear  skin  flushed  with  exer- 
cise, his  general  physical  aspect  even  more 
splendid  than  it  had  been  in  his  first  youth. 
Beside  him,  the  slender  figure  and  pleasant 
irregular  face  of  Herbert  French  would  have 
been  altogether  effaced  and  eclipsed  but  for 


139 

the  Eton  master's  two  striking  points:  pre- 
maturely white  hair,  remarkably  thick  and 
abundant;  and  very  blue  eyes,  shy,  spiritual 
and  charming. 

"I  don't  mind,"  Roger  was  saying,  "if  you 
think  they  'd  have  me.  Beastly  bore,  of  course! 
But  one  's  got  to  do  something  for  one's  keep." 

He  looked  round  with  a  smile,  slightly  con- 
scious. The  position  he  had  occupied  for  some 
three  years,  of  the  idle  and  penniless  husband 
dependent  on  his  wife's  dollars,  was  not,  he 
knew,  an  exalted  one  in  French's  eyes. 

"Oh!  you  '11  find  it  quite  tolerable,"  said 
French.  "Roads  and  schools  do  as  well  as 
anything  else  to  break  one's  teeth  on.  We 
shall  see  you  a  magistrate  directly." 

Roger  laughed.  "That  would  be  a  good 
one! — I  say,  you  know,  I  hope  Daphne's  going 
to  like  Heston." 

French  hoped  so  too,  guardedly. 

"I  hear  the  Archdeacon  got  on  her  nerves 
yesterday  ?" 

He  looked  at  his  companion  with  a  slight 
laugh  and  a  shrug. 

"That  does  n't  matter." 

"I  don't  know.  He  's  rather  a  spiteful  old 
party.  And  Daphne 's  accustomed  to  be  made 
a  lot  of,  you  know.  In  London  there  's  always 
a  heap  of  people  making  up  to  her  —  and  in 


140          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Paris,  too.  She  talks  uncommon  good  French 
-  learnt  it  in  the  convent.  I  don't  understand 
a  word  of  what  they  talk  about  —  but  she  's  a 
queen  —  I  can  tell  you!  She  doesn't  want 
Archdeacons  prating  at  her." 

"It'll  be  all  right  when  she  knows  the 
people." 

"Of  course,  mother  and  I  get  along  here 
all  right.  We  've  got  to  pick  up  the  threads 
again;  but  we  do  know  all  the  people,  and  we 
like  the  old  place  for  grandfather's  sake,  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  But  there  is  n't  much  to 
amuse  Daphne  here." 

"She  '11  be  doing  up  the  house." 

"And  offending  mother  all  the  time.  I  say, 
French,  don't  you  think  art 's  an  awful  nuisance! 
When  I  hear  Lelius  yarning  on  about  quattro- 
cento and  cinque-cento,  I  could  drown  myself. 
No!  I  suppose  you  're  tarred  with  the  same 
brush."  Roger  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Well, 
I  don't  care,  so  long  as  Daphne  gets  what  she 
wants,  and  the  place  suits  the  child."  His 
ruddy  countenance  took  a  shade  of  anxiety. 

French  inquired  what  reason  there  was  to 
suppose  that  Beatty  would  not  thrive  perfectly 
at  Heston.  Roger  could  only  say  that  the  child 
had  seemed  to  flag  a  little  since  their  arrival. 
Appetite  not  quite  so  good,  temper  difficult, 
and  so  on.  Their  smart  lady-nurse  was  not 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          141 

quite  satisfied.  "And  I  've  been  finding  out 
about  doctors  here,"  the  young  father  went  on, 
knitting  his  brows:  "blokes,  most  of  them,  and 
such  old  blokes !  I  would  n't  trust  Beatty 
to  one  of  them.  But  I  've  heard  of  a  new  man 
at  Hereford  — -  awfully  good,  they  say  —  a  wun- 
ner!  And  after  all  a  motor  would  soon  run  him 
out!" 

He  went  on  talking  eagerly  about  the  child, 
her  beauty,  her  cleverness,  the  plans  Daphne 
had  for  her  bringing  up,  and  so  on.  No  other 
child  ever  had  been,  ever  could  be,  so  fetching, 
so  "cunning,"  so  lovely,  such  a  duck!  The 
Frenches,  indeed,  possessed  a  boy  of  two, 
reputed  handsome.  Roger  wished  to  show 
himself  indulgent  to  anything  that  might  be 
pleaded  for  him.  "Dear  little  fellow!"  -of 
course.  But  Beatty!  Well!  it  was  surprising, 
indeed,  that  he  should  find  himself  the  father 
of  such  a  little  miracle;  he  did  n't  know  what 
he  'd  done  to  deserve  it.  Herbert  French  smiled 
as  he  walked. 

"Of  course,  I  hope  there  '11  be  a  boy,"  said 
Roger,  stopping  suddenly  to  look  at  Heston 
Park,  half  a  mile  off,  emerging  from  the  trees. 
"Daphne  would  like  a  boy  —  so  should  I,  and 
particularly  now  that  we  've  got  the  old  house 
back  again." 

He  stood  and  surveyed  it.     French  noticed 


142          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

in  the  growing  manliness  of  his  face  and  bearing 
the  signs  of  things  and  forces  ancestral,  of  those 
ghostly  hands  stretching  from  the  past  that  in 
a  long  settled  society  tend  to  push  a  man  into 
his  right  place  and  keep  him  there.  The  Barnes 
family  was  tolerable,  though  not  distinguished. 
Roger's  father's  great  temporary  success  in 
politics  and  business  had  given  it  a  passing 
splendour,  now  quenched  in  the  tides  of  failure 
and  disaster  which  had  finally  overwhelmed  his 
career.  Roger  evidently  did  not  want  to  think 
much  about  his  Barnes  heritage.  But  it  was 
clear  also  that  he  was  proud  of  the  Trescoes; 
that  he  had  fallen  back  upon  them,  so  to  speak. 
Since  the  fifteenth  century  there  had  always 
been  a  Trescoe  at  Heston;  and  Roger  had 
already  taken  to  browsing  in  county  histories 
and  sorting  family  letters.  French  foresaw  a 
double-barrelled  surname  before  long  —  per- 
haps, just  in  time  for  the  advent  of  the  future  son 
and  heir  who  was  already  a  personage  in  the 
mind,  if  not  yet  positively  expected. 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  hope  Mrs.  Barnes  will 
give  you  not  one  son,  but  many!"  he  said,  in 
answer  to  his  companion's  outburst.  'They  're 
wanted  nowadays." 

Roger  nodded  and  smiled,  and  then  passed 
on  to  discussion  of  county  business  and  county 
people.  He  had  already,  it  seemed,  informed 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          143 

himself  to  a  rather  surprising  degree.  The 
shrewd,  upright  county  gentleman  was  begin- 
ning to  emerge,  oddly,  from  the  Apollo.  The 
merits  and  absurdities  of  the  type  were  already 
there,  indeed,  in  posse.  How  persistent  was 
the  type,  and  the  instinct!  A  man  of  Roger's 
antecedents  might  seem  to  swerve  from  the 
course;  but  the  smallest  favourable  variation 
of  circumstances,  and  there  he  was  again  on 
the  track,  trotting  happily  between  the  shafts. 

"If  only  the  wife  plays  up!"  thought  French. 

The  recollection  of  Daphne,  indeed,  emerged 
simultaneously  in  both  minds. 

"Daphne,  you  know,  won't  be  able  to  stand 
this  all  the  year  round,"  said  Roger.  "By 
George,  no!  not  with  a  wagon-load  of  Leliuses!" 
Then,  with  a  sudden  veer  and  a  flush:  "I  say, 
French,  do  you  know  what  sort  of  state  the 
Fairmile  marriage  is  in  by  now  ?  I  think  that 
lady  might  have  spared  her  call  —  don't  you  ?" 

French  kept  his  eyes  on  the  path.  It  was 
the  first  time,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  that 
Roger  had  referred  to  the  incident.  Yet  the 
tone  of  the  questioner  implied  a  past  history. 
It  was  to  him,  indeed,  that  Roger  had  come, 
in  the  first  bitterness  of  his  young  grief  and 
anger,  after  the  "jilting."  French  had  tried 
to  help  him,  only  to  find  that  he  was  no  more 
a  match  for  the  lady  than  the  rest  of  the  world. 


144          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

As  to  the  call  and  the  invitation,  he  agreed 
heartily  that  a  person  of  delicacy  would  have 
omitted  them.  The  Fairmile  marriage,  it  was 

o     ' 

generally  rumoured,  had  broken  down  hope- 
lessly. 

"Faults  on  both  sides,  of  course.  Fairmile 
is  and  always  was  an  unscrupulous  beggar! 
He  left  Eton  just  as  you  came,  but  I  remember 
him  well." 

Roger  began  a  sentence  to  the  effect  that 
if  Fairmile  had  no  scruples  of  his  own,  Chloe 
would  scarcely  have  taught  him  any;  but  he 
checked  himself  abruptly  in  the  middle,  and 
the  two  men  passed  to  other  topics.  French 
began  to  talk  of  East  London,  and  the  parish 
he  was  to  have  there.  Roger,  indifferent  at 
first,  did  not  remain  so.  He  did  not  profess, 
indeed,  any  enthusiasm  of  humanity;  but 
French  found  in  him  new  curiosities.  That 
children  should  starve,  and  slave,  and  suffer 
—  that  moved  him.  He  was,  at  any  rate,  for 
hanging  the  parents. 

The  day  of  the  Upcott  visit  came,  and,  in 
spite  of  all  recalcitrance,  Roger  was  made  to 
mount  the  motor  beside  his  wife.  Lady  Barnes 
had  entirely  refused  to  go,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
French  had  departed  that  morning  for  Eton. 

As   the   thing   was   inevitable,   Roger's   male 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          145 

philosophy  came  to  his  aid.  Better  laugh  and 
have  done  with  it.  So  that,  as  he  and  Daphne 
sped  along  the  autumn  lanes,  he  talked  about 
anything  and  everything.  He  expressed,  for 
instance,  his  friendly  admiration  for  Elsie 
French. 

"She's    just    the    wife    for    old    Herbert - 
and,  by  George,  she  's  in  love  with  him!" 

"A  great  deal  too  much  in  love  with  him!" 
said  Daphne,  sharply.  The  day  was  chilly, 
with  a  strong  east  wind  blowing,  and  Daphne's 
small  figure  and  face  were  enveloped  in  a 
marvellous  wrap,  compounded  in  equal  pro- 
portions of  Russian  sables  and  white  cloth. 
It  had  not  long  arrived  from  Worth,  and  Roger 
had  allowed  himself  some  jibes  as  to  its  probable 
cost.  Daphne's  "simplicity,"  the  pose  of  her 
girlhood,  was  in  fact  breaking  down  in  all 
directions.  The  arrogant  spending  instinct  had 
gained  upon  the  moderating  and  self-restraining 
instinct.  The  results  often  made  Barnes  uncom- 
fortable. But  he  was  inarticulate,  and  easily 
intimidated -- by  Daphne.  With  regard  to 
Mrs.  French,  however,  he  took  up  the  cudgels 
at  once.  Why  should  n't  Elsie  adore  her  man, 
if  it  pleased  her?  Old  Herbert  was  worth  it. 

Women,  said  Daphne,  should  never  put 
themselves  wholly  in  a  man's  power.  Moreover, 
wifely  adoration  was  particularly  bad  for 


146          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

clergymen,    who    were    far   too  much    inclined 
already  to  give  themselves  airs. 

"I  say!     Herbert  never  gives  himself  airs!" 

"They  both  did  —  to  me.  They  have  quite 
different  ways  from  us,  and  they  make  one  feel  it. 
They  have  family  prayers  —  we  don't.  They 
have  ascetic  ideas  about  bringing  up  children 
-  I  have  n't.  Elsie  would  think  it  self-indulgent 
and  abominable  to  stay  in  bed  to  breakfast  - 
I  don't.  The  fact  is,  all  her  interests  and  ideals 
are  quite  different  from  mine,  and  I  am  rather 
tired  of  being  made  to  feel  inferior." 

"Daphne!  what  rubbish!  I  'm  certain  Elsie 
French  never  had  such  an  idea  in  her  head. 
She  's  awfully  soft,  and  nice;  I  never  saw  a 
bit  of  conceit  in  her." 

"She  's  soft  outside  and  steel  inside.  Well, 
never  mind!  we  don't  get  on.  She  's  the  old 
America,  I  'm  the  new,"  said  Daphne,  half 
frowning,  half  laughing;  "and  I  'm  as  good 
as  she." 

"You  're  a  very  good-looking  woman,  any- 
way," said  Roger,  admiring  the  vision  of  her 
among  the  warm  browns  and  shining  whites  of 
her  wrap.  "Much  better-looking  than  when 
I  married  you."  He  slipped  an  arm  under  the 
cloak  and  gave  her  small  waist  a  squeeze. 

Daphne  turned  her  eyes  upon  him.  In 
their  black  depths  his  touch  had  roused  a 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  147 

passion  which  was  by  no  means  all  tender- 
ness. There  was  in  it  something  threatening, 
something  intensely  and  inordinately  possessive. 
"That  means  that  you  didn't  think  me  good- 
looking  at  all,  as  compared  with  —  Chloe?" 
she  said  insistently. 

"Really,  Daphne!"  -Roger  withdrew  his 
arm  with  a  rather  angry  laugh  -  "the  way  you 
twist  what  one  says!  I  declare  I  won't  make 
you  any  more  pretty  speeches  for  an  age." 

Daphne  scarcely  replied;  but  there  dawned 
on  her  face  the  smile  —  melting,  provocative, 
intent  —  which  is  the  natural  weapon  of  such  a 
temperament.  With  a  quick  movement  she 
nestled  to  her  husband's  side,  and  Roger  was 
soon  appeased. 

The  visit  which  followed  always  counted 
in  Roger  Barnes's  memory  as  the  first  act  of 
the  tragedy,  the  first  onset  of  the  evil  that 
engulfed  him. 

They  found  the  old  Duchess,  Mrs.  Fairmile, 
and  Dr.  Lelius,  alone.  The  Duchess  had  been 
the  penniless  daughter  of  an  Irish  clergyman, 
married  en  secondes  noces  for  her  somewhat 
queer  and  stimulating  personality,  by  an  epi- 
curean duke,  who,  after  having  provided  the 
family  with  a  sufficient  store  of  dull  children  by 
an  aristocratic  mother,  thought  himself  at 


148          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

liberty,  in  his  declining  years,  to  please  himself. 
He  had  left  her  the  dower-house  —  small  but 
delicately  Jacobean  —  and  she  was  now  nearly 
as  old  as  the  Duke  had  been  when  he  married 
her.  She  was  largely  made,  shapeless,  and 
untidy.  Her  mannish  face  and  head  were  tied 
up  in  a  kind  of  lace  coif;  she  had  long  since 
abandoned  all  thought  of  a  waist;  and  her 
strong  chin  rested  on  an  ample  bosom. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Barnes  was  seated  near  her 
hostess,  Lelius  --who  had  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance, through  their  pictures,  with  half  the  great 
people  of  Europe  --  began  to  observe  the  Duch- 
ess's impressions.  Amused  curiosity,  first.  Evi- 
dently Daphne  represented  to  her  one  of  the 
queer,  crude  types  that  modern  society  is 
always  throwing  up  on  the  shores  of  life  --  like 
strange  beasts  from  deep-sea  soundings. 

An  American  heiress,  half  Spanish  —  South- 
American  Spanish  —  with  no  doubt  a  dash  of 
Indian;  no  manners,  as  Europe  understands 
them;  unlimited  money,  and  absurd  preten- 
sions —  so  Chloe  said  —  in  the  matter  of  art;  a 
mixture  of  the  pedant  and  the  parvenue;  where 
on  earth  had  young  Barnes  picked  her  up!  It 
was  in  some  such  way,  no  doubt  —  so  Lelius 
guessed  -  -  that  the  Duchess's  thoughts  were 
running. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Barnes  was  treated  with  all 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  149 

possible  civility.  The  Duchess  inquired  into 
the  plans  for  rebuilding  Heston;  talked  of  her 
own  recollections  of  the  place,  and  its  owners; 
hoped  that  Mrs.  Barnes  was  pleased  with  the 
neighbourhood;  and  finally  asked  the  stock 
question,  "And  how  do  you  like  England?" 

Daphne  looked  at  her  coolly.  "Moder- 
ately!" she  said,  with  a  smile,  the  colour  rising 
in  her  cheek  as  she  became  aware,  without 
looking  at  them,  that  Roger  and  Mrs.  Fairmile 
had  adjourned  to  the  farther  end  of  the  large 
room,  leaving  her  to  the  Duchess  and  Lelius. 

The  small  eyes  above  the  Duchess's  promi- 
nent nose  sparkled.  "Only  moderately?"  The 
speaker's  tone  expressed  that  she  had  been  for 
once  taken  by  surprise.  "I  'm  extremely  sorry 
we  don't  please  you,  Mrs.  Barnes." 

'You  see,  my  expectations  were  so  high." 

"Is  it  the  country,  or  the  climate,  or  the 
people,  that  won't  do?"  inquired  the  Duchess, 
amused. 

"I  suppose  it  would  be  civil  to  say  the  climate," 
replied  Daphne,  laughing. 

Whereupon  the  Duchess  saw  that  her  visitor 
had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  be  overawed. 
The  great  lady  summoned  Dr.  Lelius  to  her 
aid,  and  she,  the  German,  and  Daphne,  kept 
up  a  sparring  conversation,  in  which  Mrs. 
Barnes,  driven  on  by  a  secret  wrath,  showed 


150          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

herself  rather  noisier  than  Englishwomen  gener- 
ally are.  She  was  a  little  impertinent,  the 
Duchess  thought,  decidedly  aggressive,  and  not 
witty  enough  to  carry  it  off. 

Meanwhile,  Daphne  had  instantly  perceived 
that  Mrs.  Fairmile  and  Roger  had  disappeared 
into  the  conservatory;  and  though  she  talked 
incessantly  through  their  absence,  she  felt  each 
minute  of  it.  When  they  came  back  for  tea, 
she  imagined  that  Roger  looked  embarrassed, 
while  Mrs.  Fairmile  was  all  gaiety,  chatting  to 
her  companion,  her  face  raised  to  his,  in  the 
manner  of  one  joyously  renewing  an  old 
intimacy.  As  they  slowly  advanced  up  the  long 
room,  Daphne  felt  it  almost  intolerable  to  watch 
them,  and  her  pulses  began  to  race.  Why  had 
she  never  been  told  of  this  thing  ?  That  was 
what  rankled;  and  the  Southern  wildness  in  her 
blood  sent  visions  of  the  past  and  terrors  of  the 
future  hurrying  through  her  brain,  even  while  she 
went  on  talking  fast  and  recklessly  to  the  Duchess. 

At  tea-time  conversation  turned  on  the  various 
beautiful  things  which  the  room  contained  - 
its  Nattiers,  its  Gobelins,  its  two  dessus  de 
portes  by  Boucher,  and  its  two  cabinets,  of 
which  one  had  belonged  to  Beaumarchais  and 
the  other  to  the  Appartement  du  Dauphin  at 
Versailles. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  151 

Daphne  restrained  herself  for  a  time,  asked 
questions,  and  affected  no  special  knowledge. 
Then,  at  a  pause,  she  lifted  a  careless  hand, 
inquiring  whether  "the  Fragonard  sketch" 
opposite  were  not  the  pendant  of  one  —  she 
named  it  —  at  Berlin. 

"Ah-h-h!"  said  Mrs.  Fairmile,  with  a  smiling 
shake  of  the  head,  "how  clever  of  you!  But 
that 's  not  a  Fragonard.  I  wish  it  were.  It 's 
an  unknown.  Dr.  Lelius  has  given  him  a  name." 

And  she  and  Lelius  fell  into  a  discussion  of 
the  drawing,  that  soon  left  Daphne  behind. 
Native  taste  of  the  finest,  mingled  with  the 
training  of  a  lifetime,  the  intimate  knowledge 
of  collections  of  one  who  had  lived  among  them 
from  her  childhood -- these  things  had  long 
since  given  Chloe  Fairmile  a  kind  of  European 
reputation.  Daphne  stumbled  after  her,  con- 
sumed with  angry  envy,  the  precieuse  in  her 
resenting  the  easy  mastery  of  Mrs.  Fairmile, 
and  the  wife  in  her  offended  by  the  strange 
beauty,  the  soft  audacities  of  a  woman  who  had 
once,  it  seemed,  held  Roger  captive,  and  would, 
of  course,  like  to  hold  him  captive  again. 

She  burned  in  some  way  to  assert  herself, 
the  imperious  will  chafing  at  the  slender  barrier 
of  self-control.  And  some  malicious  god  did, 
in  fact,  send  an  opportunity. 

After  tea,  when  Roger,  in  spite  of  efforts  to 


152          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

confine  himself  to  the  Duchess,  had  been  once 
more  drawn  into  the  orbit  of  Mrs.  Fairmile, 
as  she  sat  fingering  a  cigarette  between  the  two 
men,  and  gossiping  of  people  and  politics,  the 
butler  entered,  and  whispered  a  message  to  the 
Duchess. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  laughed.  "Chloe! 
who  do  you  think  has  called  ?  Old  Marcus,  of 
South  Audley  Street.  He  's  been  at  Brendon 
House -- buying  up  their  Romneys,  I  should 
think.  And  as  he  was  passing  here,  he  wished 
to  show  me  something.  Shall  we  have  him 
in?" 

"By  all  means!  The  last  time  he  was  here 
he  offered  you  four  thousand  pounds  for  the 
blue  Nattier,"  said  Chloe,  with  a  smile,  pointing 
to  the  picture. 

The  Duchess  gave  orders;  and  an  elderly 
man,  with  long  black  hair,  swarthy  complexion, 
fine  eyes,  and  a  peaked  forehead,  was  admitted, 
and  greeted  by  her,  Mrs.  Fairmile,  and  Dr. 
Lelius  as  an  old  acquaintance.  He  sat  down 
beside  them,  was  given  tea,  and  presented  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barnes.  Daphne,  who  knew 
the  famous  dealer  by  sight  and  reputation  per- 
fectly well,  was  piqued  that  he  did  not  recognize 
her.  Yet  she  well  remembered  having  given 
him  an  important  commission  not  more  than  a 
year  before  her  marriage. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          153 

As  soon  as  a  cup  of  tea  had  been  dispatched, 
Marcus  came  to  the  business.  He  drew  a  small 
leather  case  out  of  the  bag  he  had  brought  into 
the  room  with  him;  and  the  case,  being  opened, 
disclosed  a  small  but  marvellous  piece  of 
Sevres. 

:' There!"  he  said,  pointing  triumphantly  to 
a  piece  on  the  Duchess's  chimney-piece.  '*  Your 
Grace  asked  me  —  oh !  ten  years  ago  —  and 
again  last  year  —  to  find  you  the  pair  of  that. 
Now --you  have  it!" 

He  put  the  two  together,  and  the  effect  was 
great.     The  Duchess  looked  at  it  with  greed  - 
the  greed  of  the  connoisseur.     But  she  shook 
her  head. 

"Marcus,  I  have  no  money." 

"Oh!"  He  protested,  smiling  and  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders. 

"And  I  know  you  want  a  brigand's  price 
for  it." 

"Oh,   nothing  —  nothing  at  all." 

The  Duchess  took  it  up,  and  regretfully 
turned  it  round  and  round. 

"A  thousand,  Marcus?"  she  said,  look- 
ing up. 

He  laughed,  and  would  not  reply. 

'That  means  more,  Marcus:  how  do  you 
imagine  that  an  old  woman  like  me,  with  only 
just  enough  for  bread  and  butter,  can  waste 


154          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

her  money  on  Sevres?"  He  grinned.  She 
put  it  down  resolutely.  "No!  I  've  got  a  con- 
sumptive nephew  with  a  consumptive  family. 
He  ought  to  have  been  hung  for  marrying,  but 
I  've  got  to  send  them  all  to  Davos  this  winter. 
No,  I  can't,  Marcus;  I  can't  —  I  'm  too  poor." 
But  her  eyes  caressed  the  shining  thing. 

Daphne  bent  forward.  "If  the  Duchess 
has  really  made  up  her  mind,  Mr.  Marcus,  I 
will  take  it.  It  would  just  suit  me!" 

Marcus  started  on  his  chair.  "Pardon, 
Madame!"  he  said,  turning  hastily  to  look  at 
the  slender  lady  in  white,  of  whom  he  had  as 
yet  taken  no  notice. 

"We  have  the  motor.  We  can  take  it  with 
us,"  said  Daphne,  stretching  out  her  hand  for  it 
triumphantly. 

"Madame,"  said  Marcus,  in  some  agitation, 
"I  have  not  the  honour.  The  price  - 

"The  price  does  n't  matter,"  said  Daphne, 
smiling.  'You  know  me  quite  well,  Mr.  Mar- 
cus. Do  you  remember  selling  a  Louis  Seize 
cabinet  to  Miss  Floyd?" 

"Ah!"  The  dealer  was  on  his  feet  in  a 
moment,  saluting,  excusing  himself.  Daphne 
heard  him  with  graciousness.  She  was  now 
the  centre  of  the  situation:  she  had  asserted 
herself,  and  her  money.  Marcus  outdid  himself 
in  homage.  Lelius  in  the  background  looked 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          155 

on,  a  sarcastic  smile  hidden  by  his  fair  mous- 
tache. Mrs.  Fairmile,  too,  smiled;  Roger  had 
grown  rather  hot;  and  the  Duchess  was  frankly 
annoyed. 

"I  surrender  it  to  force  majeure,"  she  said, 
as  Daphne  took  it  from  her.  "Why  are  we 
not  all  Americans?" 

And  then,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  she 
would  talk  no  more.  The  pleasure  of  the  visit, 
so  far  as  it  had  ever  existed,  was  at  an  end. 

But  before  the  Barnes  motor  departed  home- 
wards, Mrs.  Fairmile  had  again  found  means 
to  carry  Roger  Barnes  out  of  sight  and  hearing 
into  the  garden.  Roger  had  not  been  able  to 
avoid  it;  and  Daphne,  hugging  the  leather  case, 
had,  all  the  same,  to  look  on. 

When  they  were  once  more  alone  together, 
speeding  through  the  bright  sunset  air,  each 
found  the  other  on  edge. 

"You  were  rather  rough  on  the  Duchess, 
Daphne!"  Roger  protested.  "It  wasn't  quite 
nice,  was  it,  outbidding  her  like  that  in  her  own 
house  ?" 

Daphne  flared  up  at  once,  declaring  that  she 
wanted  no  lessons  in  deportment  from  him  or 
anyone  else,  and  then  demanding  fiercely  what 
was  the  meaning  of  his  two  disappearances 
with  Mrs.  Fairmile.  Whereupon  Roger  lost 


156          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

his  temper  still  more  decidedly,  refusing  to  give 
any  account  of  himself,  and  the  drive  passed  in 
a  continuous  quarrel,  which  only  just  stopped 
short,  on  Daphne's  side,  of  those  outrageous 
and  insulting  things  which  were  burning  at  the 
back  of  her  tongue,  while  she  could  not  as  yet 
bring  herself  to  say  them. 

An  unsatisfactory  peace  was  patched  up 
during  the  evening.  But  in  the  dead  of  night 
Daphne  sat  up  in  bed,  looking  at  the  face  and 
head  of  her  husband  beside  her  on  the  pillow. 
He  lay  peacefully  sleeping,  the  noble  outline 
of  brow  and  features  still  nobler  in  the  dim 
light  which  effaced  all  the  weaker,  emptier 
touches.  Daphne  felt  rising  within  her  that 
mingled  passion  of  the  jealous  woman,  which  is 
half  love,  half  hate,  of  which  she  had  felt  the 
first  stirrings  in  her  early  jealousy  of  Elsie 
Maddison.  It  was  the  clutch  of  something 
racial  and  inherited  —  a  something  which  the 
Northerner  hardly  knows.  She  had  felt  it 
before  on  one  or  two  occasions,  but  not  with  this 
intensity.  The  grace  of  Chloe  Fairmile  haunted 
her  memory,  and  the  perfection,  the  corrupt 
perfection  of  her  appeal  to  men,  men  like  Roger. 

She  must  wring  from  him  —  she  must  and 
would  —  a  much  fuller  history  of  his  engage- 
ment. And  of  those  conversations  in  the  gar- 
den, too.  It  stung  her  to  recollect  that,  after 


"  In  the  dead  of  night  Daphne  sat  up  in  bed,  looking  at  the 
face  and  head  of  her  husband  beside  her  on  the  pillow  " 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  157 

all,  he  had  given  her  no  account  of  them.  She 
had  been  sure  they  had  not  been  ordinary  con- 
versations!—  Mrs.  Fairmile  was  not  the  per- 
son to  waste  her  time  in  chit-chat. 

A  gust  of  violence  swept  through  her.  She 
had  given  Roger  everything  —  money,  ease, 
amusement.  Where  would  he  have  been  with- 
out her?  And  his  mother,  too?  —  tiresome, 
obstructive  woman!  For  the  first  time  that 
veil  of  the  unspoken,  that  mist  of  loving  illu- 
sion which  preserves  all  human  relations,  broke 
dowrn  between  Daphne  and  her  marriage.  Her 
thoughts  dwelt,  in  a  vulgar  detail,  on  the  money 
she  had  settled  upon  Roger  —  on  his  tendencies 
to  extravagance  —  his  happy-go-lucky  self- 
confident  ways.  He  would  have  been  a  pauper 
but  for  her;  but  now  that  he  had  her  money 
safe,  without  a  word  to  her  of  his  previous 
engagement,  he  and  Mrs.  Fairmile  might  do  as 
they  pleased.  The  heat  and  corrosion  of  this 
idea  spread  through  her  being,  and  the  will 
made  no  fight  against  it. 


CHAPTER  VII 

YOU  'RE  off  to  the  meet?" 
"I  am.     Look  at  the  day!" 

Chloe  Fairmile,  who  was  standing  in  her 
riding-habit  at  the  window  of  the  Duchess's 
morning-room,  turned  to  greet  her  hostess. 

A  mild  November  sun  shone  on  the  garden 
and  the  woods,  and  Chloe's  face  —  the  more 
exquisite  as  a  rule  for  its  slight,  strange  wither- 
ing —  had  caught  a  freshness  from  the  morning. 

The  Duchess  was  embraced,  and  bore  it; 
she  herself  never  kissed  anybody. 

"You  always  look  well,  my  dear,  in  a  habit, 
and  you  know  it.  Tell  me  what  I  shall  do 
with  this  invitation." 

"From  Lady  Warton  ?     May  I  look?" 

Chloe  took  a  much  blotted  and  crossed  letter 
from  the  Duchess's  hand. 

"What  were  her  governesses  about?"  said 
the  Duchess,  pointing  to  it.  "Really  —  the 
education  of  our  class!  Read  it!" 

"Can  I  persuade  you  to  come  — 
and  bring  Mrs.  Fairmile  —  next  Tuesday  to 
dinner,  to  meet  Roger  Barnes  and  his  wife? 

158 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          159 

I  groan  at  the  thought,  for  I  think  she  is  quite 
one  of  the  most  disagreeable  little  creatures  I 
ever  saw.  But  Warton  says  I  must  —  a  Lord- 
Lieutenant  can't  pick  and  choose!  —  and  people 
as  rich  as  they  are  have  to  be  considered.  I 
can't  imagine  why  it  is  she  makes  herself  so 
odious.  All  the  Americans  I  ever  knew  I  have 
liked  particularly.  It  is,  of  course,  annoying 
that  they  have  so  much  money  —  but  Warton 
says  it  is  n't  their  fault  —  it 's  Protection,  or 
something  of  the  kind.  But  Mrs.  Barnes  seems 
really  to  wish  to  trample  on  us.  She  told 
Warton  the  other  day  that  his  tapestries  --  you 
know,  those  we  're  so  proud  of  —  that  they 
were  bad  Flemish  copies  of  something  or  other 
—  a  set  belonging  to  a  horrid  friend  of  hers,  I 
think.  Warton  was  furious.  And  she  's  made 
the  people  at  Brendon  love  her  for  ever  by 
insisting  that  they  have  now  ruined  all  their 
pictures  without  exception,  by  the  way  they  've 
had  them  restored  —  et  cetera,  et  cetera.  She 
really  makes  us  feel  her  millions  —  and  her 
brains  —  too  much.  We  're  paupers,  but 
we  're  not  worms.  Then  there 's  the  Arch- 
deacon—  why  should  she  fall  foul  of  him? 
He  tells  Warton  that  her  principles  are  really 
shocking.  She  told  him  she  saw  no  reason 
why  people  should  stick  to  their  husbands  or 
wives  longer  than  it  pleased  them  —  and  that 


160          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

in  America  nobody  did!  He  does  n't  wish 
Mrs.  Mountford  to  see  much  of  her; — though, 
really,  my  dear,  I  don't  think  Mrs.  M.  is  likely 
to  give  him  trouble  —  do  you  ?  And  I  hear, 
of  course,  that  she  thinks  us  all  dull  and  stuck-up, 
and  as  ignorant  as  savages.  It 's  so  odd  she 
shouldn't  even  want  to  be  liked!  —  a  young 
woman  in  a  strange  neighbourhood.  But  she 
evidently  does  n't,  a  bit.  Warton  declares  she's 
already  tired  of  Roger  —  and  she  's  certainly 
not  nice  to  him.  What  can  be  the  matter? 
Anyway,  dear  Duchess,  do  come,  and  help 
us  through." 

"What,  indeed,  can  be  the  matter?"  repeated 
Chloe  lightly,  as  she  handed  back  the  letter. 

"  Angela  Warton  never  knows  anything.  But 
there  's  not  much  need  for  you  to  ask,  my  dear," 
said  the  Duchess  quietly. 

Mrs  Fairmile  turned  an  astonished  face.    . 

"Me?" 

The  Duchess,  more  bulky,  shapeless  and 
swathed  than  usual,  subsided  on  a  chair,  and 
just  raised  her  small  but  sharp  eyes  on  Mrs. 
Fairmile. 

"What  can  you  mean?"  said  Chloe,  after 
a  moment,  in  her  gayest  voice.  "I  can't 
imagine.  And  I  don't  think  I  '11  try." 

She  stooped  and  kissed  the  untidy  lady  in 
the  chair.  The  Duchess  bore  it  again,  but 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  161 

the  lines  of  her  mouth,  with  the  strong  droop 
at  the  corners,  became  a  trifle  grim.  Chloe 
looked  at  her,  smiled,  shook  her  head.  The 
Duchess  shook  hers,  and  then  they  both  began 
to  talk  of  an  engagement  announced  that 
morning  in  the  Times. 

Mrs.  Fairmile  was  soon  riding  alone,  with- 
out a  groom  —  she  was  an  excellent  horse- 
woman, and  she  never  gave  any  unnecessary 
trouble  to  her  friends'  servants  —  through 
country  lanes  chequered  with  pale  sun.  As 
for  the  Duchess's  attack  upon  her,  Chloe 
smarted.  The  Duchess  had  clearly  pulled 
her  up,  and  Chloe  was  not  a  person  who  took 
it  well. 

If  Roger's  American  wife  was  by  now  wildly 
jealous  of  his  old  fiancee,  whose  fault  was  it  ? 
Had  not  Mrs.  Barnes  herself  thro\vn  them  per- 
petually together  ?  Dinners  at  Upcott !  —  invi- 
tations to  Heston !  —  a  resolute  frequenting  of 
the  same  festal  gatherings  with  Mrs.  Fairmile. 
None  of  it  with  Roger's  goodwill,  or  his  mother's, 
-  Chloe  admitted  it.  It  had  been  the  wife's 
doing  —  all  of  it.  There  had  been  even  — 
rare  occurrences  —  two  or  three  balls  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Roger  hated  dancing,  but 
Daphne  had  made  him  go  to  them  all.  Merely 
that  she  might  display  her  eyes,  her  diamonds, 


162          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

and  her  gowns  ?  Not  at  all.  The  real  psychol- 
ogy of  it  was  plain.  "She  wishes  to  keep  us 
under  observation  —  to  give  us  opportunities 
—  and  then  torment  her  husband.  Very  well 
then!  —  tu  I' as  voulu,  Madame!" 

As  to  the  "opportunities,"  Chloe  coolly 
confessed  to  herself  that  she  had  made  rather  a 
scandalous  use  of  them.  The  gossip  of  the 
neighbourhood  had  been  no  doubt  a  good 
deal  roused;  and  Daphne,  it  seemed,  was  dis- 
contented. But  is  it  not  good  for  such  people 
to  be  discontented  ?  The  money  and  the  arro- 
gance of  Roger's  wife  had  provoked  Roger's 
former  fiancee  from  the  beginning;  the  money 
to  envy,  and  the  arrogance  to  chastisement. 
Why  not  ?  What  is  society  but  a  discipline  ? 

As  for  Roger,  who  is  it  says  there  is  a  little 
polygamy  in  all  men?  Anyway,  a  man  can 
always  —  nearly  always --keep  a  corner  for 
the  old  love,  if  the  new  love  will  let  him.  Roger 
could,  at  any  rate;  "though  he  is  a  model 
husband,  far  better  than  she  deserves,  and 
anybody  not  a  fool  could  manage  him." 

It  was  a  day  of  physical  delight,  especially 
for  riders.  After  a  warm  October,  the  leaves 
were  still  thick  on  the  trees;  Nature  had  not 
yet  resigned  herself  to  death  and  sleep.  Here 
and  there  an  oak  stood,  fully  green,  among  the 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  163 

tawny  reds  and  golds  of  a  flaming  woodland. 
The  gorse  was  yellow  on  the  commons;  and 
in  the  damp  woody  ways  through  wrhich  Chloe 
passed,  a  few  primroses  —  frail,  unseasonable 
blooms  —  pushed  their  pale  heads  through  the 
moss.  The  scent  of  the  beech-leaves  under 
foot;  the  buffeting  of  a  westerly  wind;  the 
pleasant  yielding  of  her  light  frame  to  the  move- 
ment of  the  horse;  the  glimpses  of  plain  that 
every  here  and  there  showed  themselves  through 
the  trees  that  girdled  the  high  ground  or  edge 
along  which  she  rode;  the  white  steam-wreath 
of  a  train  passing,  far  away,  through  strata 
of  blue  or  pearly  mist;  an  old  windmill  black 
in  the  middle  distance;  villages,  sheltering 
among  their  hedges  and  uplands:  a  sky,  of 
shadow  below  widely  brooding  over  earth,  and 
of  a  radiant  blue  flecked  with  white  cloud 
above:  —  all  the  English  familiar  scene,  awoke 
in  Chloe  Fairmile  a  familiar  sensuous  joy. 
Life  was  so  good  —  every  minute,  every  ounce 
of  it!  —  from  the  Duchess's  chef  to  these  ethereal 
splendours  of  autumn  —  from  the  warm  bath, 
the  luxurious  bed,  and  breakfast,  she  had  but 
lately  enjoyed,  to  these  artistic  memories  that 
ran  through  her  brain,  as  she  glanced  from  side 
to  side,  reminded  now  of  Turner,  now  of  DeWint, 
revelling  in  the  complexity  of  her  own  being. 
Her  conscience  gave  her  no  trouble;  it  had 


164          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

never  been  more  friendly.  Her  husband  and 
she  had  come  to  an  understanding;  they  were 
in  truth  more  than  quits.  There  was  to  be  no 
divorce  —  and  no  scandal.  She  would  be  very 
prudent.  A  man's  face  rose  before  her  that 
was  not  the  face  of  her  husband,  and  she  smiled 
-  indulgently.  Yes,  life  would  be  interesting 
when  she  returned  to  town.  She  had  taken  a 
house  in  Chester  Square  from  the  New  Year; 
and  Tom  was  going  to  Teheran.  Meanwhile, 
she  was  passing  the  time. 

A  thought  suddenly  occurred  to  her.  Yes, 
it  was  quite  possible  —  probable  even  —  that 
she  might  find  Roger  at  the  meet!  The  place 
appointed  was  a  long  way  from  Heston,  but  in 
the  old  days  he  had  often  sent  on  a  fresh  horse 
by  train  to  a  local  station.  They  had  had 
many  a  run  together  over  the  fields  now  coming 
into  sight.  Though  certainly  if  he  imagined 
there  were  the  very  smallest  chance  of  finding 
her  there,  he  would  give  this  particular  meet  a 
wide  berth. 

Chloe  laughed  aloud.  His  resistance  —  and 
his  weakness -- were  both  so  amusing.  She 
thought  of  the  skill  -  -  the  peremptory  smiling 
skill  -  -  with  which  she  had  beguiled  him  into 
the  garden,  on  the  day  when  the  young  couple 
paid  their  first  call  at  Upcott.  First,  the  low- 
speken  words  at  the  back  of  the  drawing-room, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  165 

while  Mrs.  Barnes  and  the  Duchess  were  skir- 
mishing — 

"I  must  speak  to  you.  Something  that 
concerns  another  person  —  something  urgent." 

Whereupon,  unwilling  and  rather  stern  com- 
pliance on  the  man's  part  —  the  handsome  face 
darkened  with  most  unnecessary  frowns.  And 
in  the  garden,  the  short  colloquy  between  them 

"Of  course,  I  see  —  you  haven't  forgiven 
me!  Never  mind!  I  am  doing  this  for  some- 
one else  —  it 's  a  duty."  Then  abruptly  — 
'You  still  have  three  of  my  letters." 

Amusing  again  —  his  shock  of  surprise,  his 
blundering  denials!  He  always  was  the  most 
unmethodical  and  unbusinesslike  of  mortals  — 
poor  Roger!  She  heard  her  own  voice  in  reply. 
"Oh  yes,  you  have.  I  don't  make  mistakes 
about  such  things.  Do  you  remember  the 
letter  in  which  I  told  you  about  that  affair  of 
Theresa  Weightman?" 

A  stare  —  an  astonished  admission.  Pre- 
cisely ! 

"Well,  she 's  in  great  trouble.  Her  hus- 
band threatens  absurdities.  She  has  always 
confided  in  me  —  she  trusts  me,  and  I  can't 
have  that  letter  wandering  about  the  world." 

"I    certainly   sent   it   back!" 

"No  —  you  never  sent  it  back.  You  have 
three  of  mine.  And  you  know  how  careless 


166 

you  are --how  you  leave  things  about.  I  was 
always  on  tenterhooks.  Look  again,  please! 
You  must  have  some  idea  where  they  might  be." 

Perplexity  —  annoyance! 

"When  we  sold  the  London  house,  all  papers 
and  documents  were  sent  down  here.  We 
reserved  a  room  --  which  was  locked  up." 

"A  la  bonne  heure!  Of  course  —  there  they 
are." 

But  all  the  same  —  great  unwillingness  to 
search.  It  was  most  unlikely  he  would  be  able 
to  find  anything  —  most  unlikely  there  was  any- 
thing to  find.  He  was  sure  he  had  sent  back 
everything.  And  then  a  look  in  the  fine  hazel 
eyes  --  like  a  horse  putting  back  its  ears. 

All  of  no  avail  —  against  the  laughing  per- 
sistence which  insisted  on  the  letters.     "But  I 
must    have    them  —  I    really    must !     It    is    a 
horrid   tragedy,   and   I   told  you   everything  - 
things  I  had  no  business  to  tell  you  at  all." 

On  which,  at  last,  a  grudging  consent  to 
look,  followed  by  a  marked  determination  to 
go  back  to  the  drawing-room. 

But  it  was  the  second  tete-a-tete  that  was  really 
adroit!  After  tea --just  a  touch  on  the  arm 
—  while  the  Duchess  was  showing  the  Nattiers 
to  Mrs.  Barnes,  and  Lelius  was  holding  the 
lamp.  "One  moment  more!  —  in  the  con- 
servatory. I  have  a  few  things  to  add."  And 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  167 

in  that  second  little  interview  —  about  nothing, 
in  truth  —  a  mere  piece  of  audacity  --  the  lion's 
claws  had  been  a  good  deal  pared.  He  had 
been  made  to  look  at  her,  first  and  foremost; 
to  realize  that  she  was  not  afraid  of  him  — 
not  one  bit!  —  and  that  he  would  have  to  treat 
her  decently.  Poor  Roger!  In  a  few  years 
the  girl  he  had  married  would  be  a  plain  and 
prickly  little  pedant  —  ill-bred  besides  —  and 
he  knew  it. 

As  to  more  recent  adventures.  If  people 
meet  in  society,  they  must  be  civil;  and  if  old 
friends  meet  at  a  dance,  there  is  an  institution 
known  as  "sitting  out";  and  "sitting  out" 
is  nothing  if  not  conversational;  and  conver- 
sation —  between  old  friends  and  cousins  — 
is  beguiling,  and  may  be  lengthy. 

The  ball  at  Brendon  House  —  Chloe  still 
felt  the  triumph  of  it  in  her  veins  —  still  saw 
the  softening  in  Roger's  handsome  face,  the 
look  of  lazy  pleasure,  and  the  disapproval  — 
or  was  it  the  envy  ?  —  in  the  eyes  of  certain 
county  magnates  looking  on.  Since  then,  no 
communication  between  Heston  and  Upcott. 

Mrs.  Fairmile  was  now  a  couple  of  miles 
from  the  meet.  She  had  struck  into  a  great 
belt  of  plantations  bounding  one  side  of  the 
ducal  estate.  Through  it  ran  a  famous  green 


168          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

ride,  crossed  near  its  beginning  by  a  main  road. 
On  her  right,  beyond  the  thick  screen  of  trees, 
was  the  railway,  and  she  could  hear  the  occa- 
sional rush  of  a  train. 

When  she  reached  the  cross  road,  which  led 
from  a  station,  a  labourer  opened  the  plan- 
tation gates  for  her.  As  he  unlatched  the 
second,  she  perceived  a  man's  figure  in  front 
of  her. 

"Roger!" 

A  touch  of  the  whip  —  her  horse  sprang  for- 
ward. The  man  in  front  looked  back  startled; 
but  she  was  already  beside  him. 

'You  keep  up  the  old  habit,  like  me ?  What 
a  lovely  day!" 

Roger  Barnes,  after  a  flush  of  amazement 
and  surprise,  greeted  her  coldly:  "It  is  a  long 
way  for  you  to  come,"  he  said  formally. 
"Twelve  miles,  isn't  it?  You're  not  going 
to  hunt?" 

"Oh,  no!  I  only  came  to  look  at  the  hounds 
and  the  horses  —  to  remind  myself  of  all  the 
good  old  times.  You  don't  want  to  remember 
them,  I  know.  Life's  gone  on  for  you!" 

Roger  bent  forward  to  pat  the  neck  of  his 
horse.  "It  goes  on  for  all  of  us,"  he  said 
gruffly. 

"Ah,  well!"  She  sighed.  He  looked  up 
and  their  eyes  met.  The  wind  had  slightly 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          169 

reddened  her  pale  skin:  her  expression  was 
one  of  great  animation,  yet  of  great  softness. 
The  grace  of  the  long,  slender  body  in  the  close- 
fitting  habit;  of  the  beautiful  head  and  loosened 
hair  under  the  small,  low-crowned  beaver  hat; 
the  slender  hand  upon  the  reins  —  all  these 
various  impressions  rushed  upon  Barnes  at 
once,  bringing  with  them  the  fascination  of  a 
past  happiness,  provoking,  by  contrast,  the 
memory  of  a  harassing  and  irritating  present. 

"Is  Heston  getting  on?"  asked  Mrs.  Fair- 
mile,  smiling. 

He  frowned  involuntarily. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  we  shall  be  straight  some 
day;"  the  tone,  however,  belied  the  words. 
"When  once  the  British  workman  gets  in,  it's 
the  deuce  to  get  him  out." 

:<The  old  house  had  such  a  charm!"  said 
Chloe  softly. 

Roger  made  no  reply.  He  rode  stiffly  beside 
her,  looking  straight  before  him.  Chloe,  observ- 
ing him  without  appearing  to  do  anything  of 
the  kind,  asked  herself  whether  the  Apollo 
radiance  of  him  were  not  already  somewhat 
quenched  and  shorn.  A  slight  thickening  of 
feature  —  a  slight  coarsening  of  form  —  she 
thought  she  perceived  them.  Poor  Roger!  — 
had  he  been  living  too  well  and  idling  too 
flagrantly  on  these  American  dollars  ? 


170          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Suddenly  she  bent  over  and  laid  a  gloved 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"Hadn't  it?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

He  started.  But  he  neither  looked  at  her 
nor  shook  her  off. 

"What  —  the  house?"  was  the  ungracious 
reply.  "I  'm  sure  I  don't  know;  I  never 
thought  about  it  —  whether  it  was  pretty  or 
ugly,  I  mean.  It  suited  us,  and  it  amused  mother 
to  fiddle  about  with  it." 

Mrs.   Fairmile   withdrew   her  hand. 

"Of  course  a  great  deal  of  it  was  ugly,"  she 
said  composedly.  "Dear  Lady  Barnes  really 
did  n't  know.  But  then  we  led  such  a  jolly 
life  in  it --we  made  it!" 

She  looked  at  him  brightly,  only  to  see  in 
him  an  angry  flash  of  expression.  He  turned 
and  faced  her. 

"I  'm  glad  you  think  it  was  jolly.  My 
remembrances  are  not  quite  so  pleasant." 

She  laughed  a  little  —  not  flinching  at  all  - 
her  face  rosy  to  his  challenge. 

"Oh,  yes,  they  are  —  or  should  be.  What 's 
the  use  of  blackening  the  past  because  it 
could  n't  be  the  present.  My  dear  Roger,  if  I 
had  n't  —  well,  let 's  talk  plainly! —  if  I  had  n't 
thrown  you  over,  where  would  you  be  now? 
We  should  be  living  in  West  Kensington,  and 
I  should  be  taking  boarders  —  or  —  no!  —  a 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          171 

country-house,  perhaps,  with  paying  guests. 
You  would  be  teaching  the  cockney  idea 
how  to  shoot,  at  half  a  guinea  a  day,  and  I 
should  be  buying  my  clothes  second-hand 
through  the  Exchange  and  Mart.  Whereas  — 
whereas  - 

She  bent  forward  again. 

'''  You  are  a  very  rich  man  —  you  have  a 
charming  wife  —  a  dear  little  girl  —  you  can 
get  into  Parliament  —  travel,  speculate,  race, 
anything  you  please.  And  I  did  it  all!" 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  he  said  drily. 
She  laughed  again. 

"Well,  we  can't  argue  it  —  can  we?"  I 
only  wanted  to  point  out  to  you  the  plain,  bare 
truth,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  to  pre- 
vent our  being  excellent  friends  again  —  now. 
But  first  —  and  once  more  —  my  letters!9' 

Her  tone  was  a  little  peremptory,  and  Roger's 
face  clouded. 

"  I  found  two  of  them  last  night,  by  the  merest 
chance  —  in  an  old  dispatch-box  I  took  to 
America.  They  wrere  posted  to  you  on  the 
way  here." 

"Good!     But  there  were  three." 

"  I  know  —  so  you  said.  I  could  only  find  two." 

"Was  the  particular  letter  I  mentioned  one 
of  them?" 

He  answered  unwillingly. 


172          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"No.  I  searched  everywhere.  I  don't 
believe  I  have  it." 

She  shook  her  head  with  decision. 

'You  certainly  have  it.     Please  look  again." 

He  broke  out  with  some  irritation,  insisting 
that  if  it  had  not  been  returned  it  had  been 
either  lost  or  destroyed.  It  could  matter  to 
no  one. 

Some  snaring,  entangling  instinct  —  an 
instinct  of  the  hunter  —  made  her  persist. 
She  must  have  it.  It  was  a  point  of  honour. 
"Poor  Theresa  is  so  unhappy,  so  pursued! 
You  saw  that  odious  paragraph  last  week  ?  I 
can't  run  the  risk!" 

With  a  groan  of  annoyance,  he  promised 
at  last  that  he  would  look  again.  Then  the 
sparkling  eyes  changed,  the  voice  softened. 

She  praised  —  she  rewarded  him.  By  smooth 
transitions  she  slipped  into  ordinary  talk;  of 
his  candidature  for  the  County  Council  - 
the  points  of  the  great  horse  he  rode  —  the 
gossip  of  the  neighbourhood  —  the  charms  of 
Beatty. 

And  on  this  last  topic  he,  too,  suddenly 
found  his  tongue.  The  cloud  —  of  awkward- 
ness, or  of  something  else  not  to  be  analyzed  - 
broke  away,  and  he  began  to  talk,  and  presently 
to  ask  questions,  with  readiness,  even  with 
eagerness. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  173 

Was  it  right  to  be  so  very  strict  with  children  ? 
-  babies  under  three  ?  Was  n't  it  ridiculous 
to  expect  them  not  to  be  naughty  or  greedy  ? 
WTiy,  every  child  wanted  as  much  sweetstuff 
as  it  could  tuck  in !  Quite  right  too  —  doctors 
said  it  was  good  for  them.  But  Miss 
Farmer 

"Who    is    Miss    Farmer?"    inquired    Mrs. 
Fairmile.     She  was  riding  close  beside  him  - 
an  embodied  friendliness  —  a  soft  and  womanly 
Chloe,  very  different  from  the  old. 

"She's  the  nurse;  my  mother  found  her. 
She's  a  lady --by  way  of  —  she  doesn't  do 
any  rough  work  —  and  I  dare  say  she  's  the 
newest  thing  out.  But  she  's  too  tight  a  hand 
for  my  taste.  I  say! — what  do  you  think  of 
this !  She  would  n't  let  Beattie  come  down 
to  the  drawing-room  yesterday,  because  she 
cried  for  a  sweet!  Wasn't  that  devilish!" 
He  brought  his  hand  down  fiercely  on  his  thigh. 

"A  Gorgon!"  said  Mrs.  Fairmile,  raising 
her  eyebrows.  "Any  other  qualifications? 
French  ?  German  ? ' ' 

"Not  a  word.  Not  she!  Her  people  live 
somewhere  near  here,  I  believe."  Roger  looked 
vaguely  round  him.  "Her  father  managed  a 
brick-field  on  this  estate  —  some  parson  or  other 
recommended  her  to  mother." 

"And  you  don't  like  her?" 


174          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"Well,  no  --I  don't!  She  's  not  the  kind  of 
woman  I  want."  He  blurted  it  out,  adding 
hurriedly,  "But  my  wife  thinks  a  lot  of  her." 

Chloe  dismissed  the  topic  of  the  nurse,  but 
still  let  him  run  on  about  the  child.  Amazing! 
—  this  development  of  paternity  in  the  careless, 
handsome  youth  of  three  years  before.  She 
Was  amused  and  bored  by  it.  But  her  per- 
mission of  it  had  thaw^ed  him  —  that  she  saw. 

Presently,  from  the  child  she  led  him  on  to 
common  acquaintance  —  old  friends  —  and  talk 
flowed  fast.  She  made  him  laugh;  and  the 
Furrows  in  the  young  brow  disappeared.  Now 
as  always  they  understood  each  other  at  a  word; 
there  was  between  them  the  freemasonry  of 
persons  sprung  from  the  same  world  and  the 
same  tradition;  his  daily  talk  with  Daphne 
had  never  this  easy,  slipping  pleasure.  Mean- 
while the  horses  sauntered  on,  unconsciously 
held  back;  and  the  magical  autumn  wood,  its 
lights  and  lines  and  odours,  played  upon  their 
senses. 

At  last  Roger  with  a  start  perceived  a  gate 
in  front.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  she  saw 
him  redden. 

"We  shall  be  late  for  the  meet." 

His  eyes  avoided  hers.  He  gathered  up  the 
reins,  evidently  conscious. 

Smiling,  she  let  him  open  the  gate  for  her, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  175 

and  then  as  they  passed  into  the  road,  shadowed 
with  over-arching  trees,  she  reined  in  White- 
foot,  and  bending  forward,  held  out  her  hand. 
"Good-bye!" 

'You're  not   coming?" 

"I  think  I've  had  enough.  I'll  go  home. 
Good-bye." 

It  was  a  relief.  In  both  minds  had  risen 
the  image  of  their  arrival  together  —  amid  the 
crowd  of  the  meet.  As  he  looked  at  her  — 
gratefully  —  the  grace  of  her  movement,  the 
temptation  of  her  eyes,  the  rush  of  old  memories 
suddenly  turned  his  head.  He  gripped  her 
hand  hard  for  a  minute,  staring  at  her. 

The  road  in  front  of  them  was  quite  empty. 
But  fifty  yards  behind  them  was  a  small  red- 
brick house  buried  in  trees.  As  they  still 
paused,  hand  in  hand,  in  front  of  the  gate  into 
the  wood,  which  had  failed  to  swing  back  and 
remained  half  open,  the  garden  door  of  this 
house  unclosed  and  a  young  woman  in  a  kind  of 
uniform  stepped  into  the  road.  She  perceived 
the  two  riders  —  stopped  in  astonishment  — 
observed  them  unseen,  and  walked  quickly 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  station. 

Roger  reached  Heston  that  night  only  just 
in  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 

By  this  time  he  was  in  a  wholly  different 
mood;  angry  with  himself,  and  full  of  rueful 


176          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

thought  about  his  wife.  Daphne  and  he  had 
been  getting  on  anything  but  well  for  some 
time  past.  He  knew  that  he  had  several  times 
behaved  badly;  why,  indeed,  that  very  after- 
noon, had  he  held  Chloe  Fairmile's  hand  in  the 
public  road,  like  an  idiot  ?  Suppose  anyone 
had  passed  ?  It  was  only  Daphne's  tempers 
and  the  discomfort  at  home  that  made  an  hour 
with  Chloe  so  pleasant  —  and  brought  the  old 
recollections  back.  He  vowed  he  never  thought 
of  her,  except  when  she  was  there  to  make  a 
fool  of  him  —  or  plague  him  about  those  beastly 
letters.  Whereas  Daphne  —  Daphne  was 
always  in  his  mind,  and  this  eclipse  into  which 
their  daily  life  had  passed.  He  seemed  to  be 
always  tripping  and  stumbling,  like  a  lame 
man  among  loose  stones;  doing  or  saying  what 
he  did  not  mean  to  do  or  say,  and  tongue-tied 
when  he  should  have  spoken.  Daphne's  jeal- 
ousy made  him  ridiculous;  he  resented  it  hotly; 
yet  he  knew  he  was  not  altogether  blameless. 

If  only  something  could  be  done  to  make 
Daphne  like  Heston  and  the  neighbours!  But 
he  saw  plainly  enough  that  in  spite  of  all  the 
effort  and  money  she  was  pouring  out  upon  the 
house,  it  gave  her  very  little  pleasure  in  return. 
Her  heart  was  not  in  it.  And  as  for  the  neigh- 
bours, she  had  scarcely  a  good  word  now  for 
any  of  them.  Jolly!  --just  as  he  was  going  to 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          177 

stand  for  the  County  Council,  with  an  idea  of 
Parliament  later  on!  And  as  for  what  he 
wished --what  would  be  good  for  him  —  that 
she  never  seemed  to  think  of.  And,  really, 
some  of  the  things  she  said  now  and  then  about 
money  —  nobody  with  the  spirit  of  a  mouse 
could  stand  them. 

To  comfort  his  worries  he  went  first  of  all 
to  the  nursery,  where  he  found  the  nursery- 
maid in  charge,  and  the  child  already  asleep. 
Miss  Farmer,  it  appeared,  had  been  enjoying 
a  "day  off,"  and  was  not  expected  back  till 
late.  He  knelt  down  beside  the  little  girl,  feed- 
ing his  eyes  upon  her.  She  lay  with  her  deli- 
cate face  pressed  into  the  pillow,  the  small 
neck  visible  under  the  cloud  of  hair,  one  hand, 
the  soft  palm  uppermost,  on  the  sheet.  He 
bent  down  and  kissed  the  hand,  glad  that  the 
sharp-faced  nurse  was  not  there  to  see.  The 
touch  of  the  fragrant  skin  thrilled  him  with 
pride  and  joy;  so  did  the  lovely  defencelessness 
of  the  child's  sleep.  That  such  a  possession 
should  have  been  given  to  him,  to  guard  and 
cherish!  There  was  in  his  mind  a  passionate 
vow  to  guard  the  little  thing  —  aye,  with  his  life- 
blood;  and  then  a  movement  of  laughter  at  his 
own  heroics.  Well !  —  Daphne  might  give  him 
sons  --but  he  did  not  suppose  any  other  child 
could  ever  be  quite  the  same  to  him  as  Beatty. 


178          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

He  sat  in  a  contented  silence,  feeding  his  eyes 
upon  her,  as  the  soft  breath  rose  and  fell.  And 
as  he  did  so,  his  temper  softened  and  warmed 
toward  Beatty's  mother. 

A  little  later  he  found  Daphne  in  her  room, 
already  dressed  for  dinner.  He  approached 
her  uneasily. 

"How  tired  you  look,  Daphne!  What  have 
you  been  doing  to  yourself?" 

Daphne  stiffly  pointed  out  that  she  had  been 
standing  over  the  workmen  all  day,  there  being 
no  one  else  to  stand  over  them,  and  of  course 
she  was  tired.  Her  manner  would  have  pro- 
voked him  but  for  the  visiting  of  an  inward 
compunction.  Instead  of  showing  annoyance 
he  bent  down  and  kissed  her. 

"I  '11  stay  and  help  to-morrow,  if  you  want 
me,  though  you  know  I  'm  no  good.  I  say, 
how  much  more  are  you  going  to  do  to  the 
house?" 

Daphne  looked  at  him  coldly.  She  had 
not  returned  the  kiss.  "Of  course,  I  know 
that  you  don't  appreciate  in  the  least  what  I  am 
doing!" 

Roger  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and 
walked  up  and  down  uncomfortably.  He 
thought,  in  fact,  that  Daphne  was  spoiling  the 
dear  nondescript  old  place,  and  he  knew  that 
the  neighbourhood  thought  so  too.  Also  he 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          179 

particularly  disliked  the  young  architect  who 
was  superintending  the  works  ("a  priggish 
ass,"  who  gave  himself  abominable  airs  - 
except  to  Daphne,  whom  he  slavishly  obeyed, 
and  to  Miss  Farmer,  with  whom  Roger  had 
twice  caught  him  gossipping) .  But  he  was  deter- 
mined not  to  anger  his  wife,  and  he  held  his 
tongue. 

"I  wish,  anyway,  you  wouldn't  stick  at 
it  so  closely,"  he  said  discontentedly.  "Let's 
go  abroad  somewhere  for  Christmas  —  Nice, 
or  Monte  Carlo.  I  am  sure  you  want  a 
change." 

"  Well,  it  is  n't  exactly  an  enchanting  neigh- 
bourhood," said  Daphne,  with  pinched  lips. 

"I  'm  awfully  sorry  you  don't  like  the  people 
here,"  said  Roger,  perplexed.  "I  dare  say 
they  're  all  stupids." 

*  That  would  n't  matter  —  if  they  behaved 
decently,"  said  Daphne,  flushing. 

"I  suppose  that  means  —  if  I  behaved 
decently!"  cried  Roger,  turning  upon  her. 

Daphne  faced  him,  her  head  in  air,  her 
small  foot  beating  the  ground,  in  a  trick  it  had. 

"Well,  I  'm  not  likely  to  forget  the  Brendon 
ball,  am  I  ?" 

Roger's  look  changed. 

"I  meant  no  harm,  and  you  know  I  did  n't," 
he  said  sulkily. 


180          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"Oh,  no,  you  only  made  a  laughing-stock 
of  me!"  Daphne  turned  on  her  heel.  Sud- 
denly she  felt  herself  roughly  caught  in  Roger's 
arms. 

"Daphne,  what  is  the  matter?  Why  can'c 
we  be  happy  together?" 

"Ask  yourself,"  she  said,  trying  to  extricate 
herself,  and  not  succeeding.  "I  don't  like  the 
people  here,  and  they  don't  like  me.  But  as 
you  seem  to  enjoy  flirting  with  Mrs.  Fairmile, 
there 's  one  person  satisfied." 

Roger  laughed  —  not  agreeably.  "I  shall 
soon  think,  Daphne,  that  somebody's  'put  a 
spell  on  you,'  as  my  old  nurse  used  to  say.  I 
wish  I  knew  what  I  could  do  to  break  it." 

She  lay  passive  in  his  arms  a  moment,  and 
then  he  felt  a  shiver  run  through  her,  and  saw 
that  she  was  crying.  He  held  her  close  to  him, 
kissing  and  comforting  her,  while  his  own  eyes 
were  wet.  What  her  emotion  meant,  or  his 
own,  he  could  not  have  told  clearly;  but  it  was 
a  moment  for  both  of  healing,  of  impulsive 
return,  the  one  to  the  other,  unspoken  penitence 
on  her  side,  a  hidden  self-blame  on  his.  She 
clung  to  him  fiercely,  courting  the  pressure  of 
his  arms,  the  warm  contact  of  his  youth;  while, 
in  his  inner  mind,  he  renounced  with  energy 
the  temptress  Chloe  and  all  her  works,  vowing 
to  himself  that  he  would  give  Daphne  no 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          181 

cause,  no  pretext  even,  for  jealousy,  and  would 
bear  it  patiently  if  she  were  still  unjust  and 
tonr  fencing. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  day?"  said 
Daphne  at  last,  disengaging  herself,  and  brush- 
ing the  tears  away  from  her  eyes  —  a  little 
angrily,  as  though  she  were  ashamed  of  them. 

"I  told  you  this  morning.  I  had  a  run 
with  the  Stoneshire  hounds." 

"Whom  did  you  meet  there?" 

"Oh,  various  old  acquaintances.  Nobody 
amusing."  He  gave  two  or  three  names,  his 
conscience  pricking  him.  Somehow,  at  that 
moment,  it  seemed  impossible  to  mention 
Chloe  Fairmile. 

About  eleven  o'clock  that  night,  Daphne  and 
Lady  Barnes  having  just  gone  upstairs,  Roger 
and  a  local  Colonel  of  Volunteers  who  was 
dining  and  spending  the  night  at  Heston,  were 
in  the  smoking-room.  Colonel  Williams  had 
come  over  to  discuss  Volunteer  prospects  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  had  been  delighted  to  find 
in  the  grandson  of  his  old  friend,  Oliver  Trescoe, 
-  a  young  fellow  whom  he  and  others  had  too 
readily  regarded  as  given  over  to  luxury  and 
soft  living  —  signs  of  the  old  public  spirit,  the 
tiaditional  manliness  of  the  family.  The  two 
men  were  talking  with  great  cordiality,  when 


182          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

the  sound  of  a  dogcart  driving  up  to  the  front 
door  disturbed  them. 

"Who  on  earth? — at  this  time  of  night?" 
said  Roger. 

The  butler,  entering  with  fresh  cigarettes, 
explained  that  Miss  Farmer  had  only  just 
returned,  having  missed  an  earlier  train. 

"Well,  I  hope  to  goodness  she  won't  go  and 
disturb  Miss  Beatty,"  grumbled  Roger;  and 
and  then,  half  to  himself,  half  to  his  companion, 
as  the  butler  departed —  "I  don't  believe  she 
missed  her  train;  she  's  one  of  the  cool  sort  - 
does  jolly  well  what  she  likes!  I  say,  Colonel, 
do  you  like  'lady  helps'?  I  don't!" 

Half  an  hour  later,  Roger,  having  said  good- 
night to  his  guest  ten  minutes  before,  was 
mounting  the  stairs  on  his  own  way  to  bed, 
when  he  heard  in  the  distance  the  sound  of 
a  closing  door  and  the  rustle  of  a  woman's 
dress. 

Nurse  Farmer,  he  supposed,  who  had  been 
gossiping  with  Daphne.  His  face,  as  the  candle 
shone  upon  it,  expressed  annoyance.  Vaguely, 
he  resented  the  kind  of  intimacy  which  had 
grown  up  lately  between  Daphne  and  her 
child's  nurse.  She  was  not  the  kind  of  person 
to  make  a  friend  of;  she  bullied  Beatty;  and 
she  must  be  got  rid  of. 

Yet    when    he    entered    his    wife's    room, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          183 

everything  was  dark,  and  Daphne  was  appar- 
ently sound  asleep.  Her  face  was  hidden  from 
him;  and  he  moved  on  tiptoe  so  as  not  to 
disturb  her.  Evidently  it  was  not  she  who  had 
been  gossiping  late.  His  mother,  perhaps, 
with  her  maid. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  THE  course  of  that  night  Roger  Barnes's 
fate  was  decided,  while  he  lay,  happily 
sleeping,  beside  his  wife.  Daphne,  as  soon  as 
she  heard  his  regular  breathing,  opened  the 
eyes  she  had  only  pretended  to  close,  and  lay 
staring  into  the  shadows  of  the  room,  in  which 
a  nightlight  was  burning.  Presently  she  got 
up  softly,  put  on  a  dressing-gown,  and  went  to 
the  fire,  which  she  noiselessly  replenished; 
drawing  up  a  chair,  she  sank  back  into  it, 
her  arms  folded.  The  strengthening  firelight 
showed  her  small  white  face,  amid  the  masses 
of  her  dark  hair. 

Her  whole  being  was  seething  with  passionate 
and  revengeful  thought.  It  was  as  though 
with  violent  straining  and  wrenching  the  familiar 
links  and  bulwarks  of  life  were  breaking  down, 
and  as  if  amid  the  wreck  of  them  she  found 
herself  looking  at  goblin  faces  beyond,  growing 
gradually  used  to  them,  ceasing  to  be  startled 
by  them,  finding  in  them  even  a  wild  attraction 
and  invitation. 

So  Roger  had  lied  to  her.  Instead  of  a 
casual  ride,  involving  a  meeting  with  a  few  old 

184 


"  Her  whole  being  was  seething  with  passionate  and 
revengeful  thought " 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  185 

acquaintances,  as  he  had  represented  to  her, 
he  had  been  engaged  that  day  in  an  assignation 
witn  Mrs.  Fairmile,  arranged  beforehand,  and 
carefully  concealed  from  his  wife.  Miss  Farmer 
had  seen  them  coming  out  of  a  wood  together 
hand  in  hand!  In  the  public  road,  this!  — 
not  even  so  much  respect  for  appearances  as 
might  have  dictated  the  most  elementary  reti- 
cence and  decency.  The  case  was  so  clear  that  it 
sickened  her;  she  shivered  with  cold  and  nausea 
as  she  lay  there  by  the  now  glowing  fire  which 
yet  gave  her  no  physical  comfort.  Probably 
in  the  past  their  relation  had  gone  much  farther 
than  Roger  had  ever  confessed  to  his  wife.  Mrs. 
Fairmile  was  a  woman  who  would  stick  at 
nothing.  And  if  Daphne  were  not  already 
betrayed,  she  could  no  longer  protect  herself. 
The  issue  was  certain.  Such  women  as  Chloe 
Fairmile  are  not  to  be  baulked  of  what  they 
desire.  Good  women  cannot  fight  them  on 
equal  terms.  And  as  to  any  attempt  to  keep 
the  affections  of  a  husband  who  could  behave 
in  such  a  way  to  the  wife  who  had  given  him  her 
youth,  herself,  and  all  the  resources  and  facilities 
of  life,  Daphne's  whole  being  stiffened  into 
mingled  anguish  and  scorn  as  she  renounced 
the  contest.  Knowing  himself  the  traitor  that 
he  was,  he  could  yet  hold  her,  kiss  her,  murmur 
tender  things  to  her,  allow  her  to  cry  upon  his 


186          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

breast,  to  stammer  repentance  and  humble- 
ness. Cowardly!  False!  Treacherous!  She 
flung  out  her  hands,  rigid,  before  her  in  the 
darkness,  as  though  for  ever  putting  him  away. 

Anguish  ?  Yes !  —  but  not  of  such  torturing 
quality  as  she  could  have  felt  a  year,  six  months 
even,  before  this  date.  She  was  astonished  that 
she  could  bear  her  life,  that  he  could  sit  there 
in  the  night  stillness,  motionless,  holding  her 
breath  even,  while  Roger  slept  there  in  the 
shadowed  bed.  Had  this  thing  happened  to 
her  before  their  arrival  at  Heston,  she  must 
have  fallen  upon  Roger  in  mad  grief  and  passion, 
ready  to  kill  him  or  herself;  must  at  least  have 
poured  out  torrents  of  useless  words  and  tears. 
She  could  not  have  sat  dumb  like  this;  in 
misery,  but  quite  able  to  think  things  out,  to 
envisage  all  the  dark  possibilities  of  the  future. 
And  not  only  the  future.  By  a  perfectly  logical 
diversion  her  thoughts  presently  went  racing  to 
the  past.  There  was,  so  to  speak,  a  suspension 
of  the  immediate  crisis,  while  she  listened  to  her 
own  mind  —  while  she  watched  her  own  years 
go  by. 

It  was  but  rarely  that  Daphne  let  her  mind 
run  on  her  own  origins.  But  on  this  winter 
night,  as  she  sat  motionless  by  the  fire,  she 
became  conscious  of  a  sudden  detachment  from 
her  most  recent  self  and  life  —  a  sudden  violent 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          187 

turning  against  both  —  which  naturally  threw 
her  back  on  the  past,  on  some  reflection  upon 
what  she  had  made  of  herself,  by  way  of  guide 
to  what  she  might  still  make  of  herself,  if  she 
struck  boldly,  now,  while  there  was  yet  time, 
for  her  own  freedom  and  development. 

As  to  her  parents,  she  never  confessed,  even 
to  herself,  that  she  owed  them  anything,  except, 
of  course,  the  mere  crude  wealth  that  her  father 
had  left  her.  Otherwise  she  was  vaguely 
ashamed  of  them  both.  And  yet !  -  -  in  her  most 
vital  qualities,  her  love  of  sensational  effect, 
her  scorn  of  half-measures,  her  quick,  relentless 
imagination,  her  increasing  ostentation  and 
extravagance,  she  was  the  true  child  of  the  boast- 
ful mercurial  Irishman  who  had  married  her 
Spanish  mother  as  part  of  a  trade  bargain,  on 
a  chance  visit  to  Buenos  Ayres.  For  twenty 
years  Daniel  Floyd  had  leased  and  exploited, 
had  ravaged  and  destroyed,  great  tracts  of 
primaeval  forest  in  the  northern  regions  of  his 
adopted  state,  leaving  behind  him  a  ruined  earth 
and  an  impoverished  community,  but  building 
up  the  while  a  colossal  fortune.  He  had  learnt 
the  arts  of  municipal  "bossing"  in  one  of  the 
minor  towns  of  Illinois,  and  had  then  migrated 
to  Chicago,  where  for  years  he  was  the  life  and 
soul  of  all  the  bolder  and  more  adventurous 
corruption  of  the  city.  A  jovial,  handsome 


188          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

fellow!  —  with  an  actor's  face,  a  bright  eye,  and 
a  slippery  hand.  Daphne  had  a  vivid,  and,  on 
the  whole,  affectionate,  remembrance  of  her 
father,  of  whom,  however,  she  seldom  spoke. 
The  thought  of  her  mother,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  always  unwelcome.  It  brought  back  recol- 
lections of  storm  and  tempest;  of  wild  laughter, 
and  still  wilder  tears;  of  gorgeous  dresses,  small 
feet,  and  jewelled  fingers. 

No;  her  parents  had  but  small  place  in  that 
dramatic  autobiography  that  Daphne  was  now 
constructing  for  herself.  She  was  not  their 
daughter  in  any  but  the  physical  sense;  she 
was  the  daughter  of  her  own  works  and  efforts. 

She  leant  forward  to  the  fire,  her  face  propped 
in  her  hands,  going  back  in  thought  to  her  father's 
death,  when  she  wras  fifteen;  to  her  three  years 
of  cloying  convent  life,  and  her  escape  from 
it,  as  well  as  from  the  intriguing  relations  who 
would  have  kept  her  there;  to  the  clever 
lawyer  who  had  helped  to  put  her  in  possession 
of  her  fortune,  and  the  huge  sums  she  had  paid 
him  for  his  services ;  to  her  search  for  education, 
her  hungry  determination  to  rise  in  the  world, 
the  friends  she  had  made  at  college,  in  New 
York,  Philadelphia,  Washington.  She  had  been 
influenced  by  one  milieu  after  another;  she 
had  worked  hard,  now  at  music,  now  at  philoso- 
phy; had  dabbled  in  girls'  clubs,  and  gone  to 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          189 

Socialist  meetings,  and  had  been  all  through 
driven  on  by  the  gadfly  of  an  ever-increasing 
ambition. 

Ambition  for  what!  She  looked  back  on  this 
early  life  with  a  bitter  contempt.  What  had  it 
all  come  to  ?  Marriage  with  Roger  Barnes !  — 
a  hasty  passion  of  which  she  was  already 
ashamed,  for  a  man  who  was  already  false  to  her. 

What  had  made  her  marry  him  ?  She  did 
not  mince  matters  with  herself  in  her  reply. 
She  had  married  him,  influenced  by  a  sudden 
gust  of  physical  inclination  —  by  that  glamour, 
too,  under  which  she  had  seen  him  in  Wash- 
ington, a  glamour  of  youth  and  novelty.  If  she 
had  seen  him  first  in  his  natural  environment 
she  would  have  been  on  her  guard;  she  would 
have  realized  what  it  meant  to  marry  a  man 
who  could  help  her  own  ideals  and  ambitions 
so  little.  And  what,  really,  had  their  married 
life  brought  her?  Had  she  ever  been  sure 
of  Roger  ?  —  had  she  ever  been  able  to  feel 
proud  of  him,  in  the  company  of  really  dis- 
tinguished men  ?  —  had  she  not  been  conscious, 
again  and  again,  when  in  London,  or  Paris,  or 
Berlin,  that  he  was  her  inferior,  that  he  spoiled 
her  social  and  intellectual  chances  ?  And  his 
tone  toward  women  had  always  been  a  low 
one;  no  great  harm  in  it,  perhaps;  but  it  had 
often  wounded  and  disgusted  her. 


190          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

And  then  —  for  climax!  —  his  concealment  of 
the  early  love  affair  with  Chloe  Fairmile;  his 
weakness  and  folly  in  letting  her  regain  her 
hold  upon  him;  his  behaviour  at  the  Brendon 
ball,  the  gossip  which,  as  Agnes  Farmer  declared, 
was  all  over  the  neighbourhood,  ending  in  the 
last  baseness — the  assignation,  the  lies,  the 
hypocrisy  of  the  afternoon! 

Enough !  —  more  than  enough !  What  did 
she  care  what  the  English  world  thought  of 
her?  She  would  free  and  right  herself  in  her 
own  way,  and  they  might  hold  up  what  hands 
they  pleased.  A  passion  of  wounded  vanity, 
of  disappointed  self-love  swept  through  her. 
She  had  looked  forward  to  the  English  country 
life;  she  had  meant  to  play  a  great  part  in  it. 
But  three  months  had  been  enough  to  show 
her  the  kind  of  thing  —  the  hopeless  narrow- 
ness and  Philistinism  of  these  English  back- 
waters. What  did  these  small  squires  and 
country  clergy  know  of  the  real  world,  the 
world  that  mattered  to  her,  where  people  had 
free  minds  and  progressive  ideas  ?  Her  resent- 
ment of  the  milieu  in  which  Roger  expected  her 
to  live  subtly  swelled  and  strengthened  her 
wrath  against  himself;  it  made  the  soil  from 
which  sprang  a  sudden  growth  of  angry  will  — • 
violent  and  destructive.  There  was  in  her  little 
or  none  of  that  affinity  with  a  traditional,  a 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          191 

parent  England,  which  is  present  in  so  many 
Americans,  which  emerges  in  them  like  buried 
land  from  the  waters.  On  the  contrary,  the 
pressure  of  race  and  blood  in  her  was  not 
towards,  but  against;  not  friendly,  but  hostile. 
The  nearer  she  came  to  the  English  life,  the 
more  certain  forces  in  her,  deeply  infused,  rose 
up  and  made  their  protest.  The  Celtic  and 
Latin  strains  that  wrere  mingled  in  her,  their 
natural  sympathies  and  repulsions,  which  had 
been  indistinct  in  the  girl,  overlaid  by  the 
deposits  of  the  current  American  world,  were 
becoming  dominant  in  the  woman. 

"Well,  thank  goodness,  modern  life  is  not 
as  the  old!  There  are  ways  out. 

Midnight  had  just  struck.  The  night  was 
gusty,  the  north-west  wind  made  fierce  attacks 
on  the  square,  comfortable  house.  Daphne 
rose  slowly;  she  moved  noiselessly  across  the 
floor;  she  stood  with  her  arms  behind  her 
looking  down  at  the  sleeping  Roger.  Then  a 
thought  struck  her;  she  reached  out  a  hand 
to  the  new  number  of  an  American  Quarterly 
which  lay,  with  the  paper  knife  in  it,  on  a  table 
beside  the  bed  She  had  ordered  it  in  a  mood 
of  jealous  annoyance  because  of  a  few  pages  of 
art  criticism  in  it  by  Mrs.  Fairmile,  which 
impertinently  professed  to  know  more  about  the 


192          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Vital!  Signorelli  than  its  present  owner  did ;  but 
she  remembered  also  an  article  on  "  The  Future 
for  Women,"  which  had  seemed  to  her  a  fine, 
progressive  thing.  She  turned  the  pages  noise- 
lessly —  her  eyes  now  on  the  unconscious  Roger 
—  now  on  the  book. 

"All  forms  of  contract  —  in  business,  edu- 
cation, religion,  or  law  —  suffer  from  the 
weakness  and  blindness  of  the  persons  mak- 
ing them  —  the  marriage  contract  as  much 
as  any  other.  The  dictates  of  humanity  and 
common-sense  alike  show  that  the  latter  and 
most  important  contract  should  no  more  be 
perpetual  than  any  of  the  others." 

Again : — 

"Any  covenant  between  human  beings 
that  fails  to  produce  or  promote  human 
happiness,  cannot  in  the  nature  of  things  be 
of  any  force  or  authority ;  it  is  not  only  a 
right  but  a  duty  to  abolish  it." 

And  a  little  further: — 

lf  Womanhood  is  the  great  fact  of  woman's 
life.  Wifehood  and  motherhood  are  but  in- 
cidental relations." 

Daphne  put  down  the  book.  In  the  dim 
light,  the  tension  of  her  slender  figure,  her 
frowning  brow,  her  locked  arms  and  hands, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          193 

made  of  her  a  threatening  Fate  hovering  darkly 
above  the  man  in  his  deep,  defenceless  sleep. 

She  was  miserable,  consumed  with  jealous 
anger.  But  the  temptation  of  a  new  licence  — 
a  lawless  law  —  was  in  her  veins.  Have 
women  been  trampled  on,  insulted,  enslaved  ?— 
in  America,  at  least,  they  may  now  stand  on 
their  feet.  No  need  to  cringe  any  more  to  the 
insolence  and  cruelty  of  men.  A  woman's 
life  may  be  soiled  and  broken;  but  in  the  great 
human  workshop  of  America  it  can  be  repaired. 
She  remembered  that  in  the  majority  of  Ameri- 
can divorces  it  is  the  woman  who  applies  for 
relief.  And  why  not  ?  The  average  woman, 
when  she  marries,  knows  much  less  of  life  and 
the  world  than  the  average  man.  She  is  more 
likely --poor  soul!  —  to  make  mistakes. 

She  drew  closer  to  the  bed.  All  round  her 
glimmered  the  furniture  and  appointments  of 
a  costly  room  —  the  silver  and  tortoise-shell  on 
the  dressing-table,  the  long  mirrors  lining  the 
farther  wall,  the  silk  hangings  of  the  bed. 
Luxury,  as  light  and  soft  as  skill  and  money 
could  make  it  —  the  room  breathed  it ;  and  in 
the  midst  stood  the  young  creature  who  had 
designed  it,  the  wTill  within  her  hardening  rapidly 
to  an  irrevocable  purpose. 

Yes,  she  had  made  a  mistake!  But  she 
would  retrieve  it.  She  would  free  herself. 


194          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

She  would  no  longer  put  up  with  Roger,  with 
his  neglect  and  deceit — his  disagreeable  and 
ungrateful  mother  —  his  immoral  friends  —  and 
this  dull,  soul-deadening  English  life. 

Roger  moved  and  murmured.  She  retreated 
a  little,  still  looking  at  him  fixedly.  Was  it 
the  child's  name  ?  Perhaps.  He  dreamed 
interminably,  and  very  often  of  Beatty.  But 
it  did  not  move  her.  Beatty,  of  course,  was 
her  child.  Every  child  belongs  to  the  mother 
in  a  far  profounder  sense  than  to  the  father. 
And  he,  too,  would  be  free;  he  would  naturally 
marry  again. 

Case  after  case  of  divorce  ran  through  her 
mind  as  she  stood  there;  the  persons  and  cir- 
cumstances all  well  known  to  her.  Other 
stories  also,  not  personally  within  her  ken;  the 
famous  scandals  of  the  time,  much  discussed 
throughout  American  society.  Her  wits  cleared 
and  steeled.  She  began  to  see  the  course 
that  she  must  follow. 

It  would  all  depend  upon  the  lawyers;  and 
a  good  deal  —  she  faced  it  —  upon  money. 
All  sorts  of  technical  phrases,  vaguely  remem- 
bered, ran  through  her  mind.  She  would  have 
to  recover  her  American  citizenship  —  she  and 
the  child.  A  domicile  of  six  months  in  South 
Dakota,  or  in  Wyoming  —  a  year  in  Philadelphia 
—  she  began  to  recall  information  derived  of 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          195 

old  from  Madeleine  Verrier,  who  had,  of  course, 
been  forced  to  consider  all  these  things,  and  to 
weigh  alternatives.  Advice,  of  course,  must  be 
asked  of  her  at  once  —  and  sympathy. 

Suddenly,  on  her  brooding,  there  broke  a 
wave  of  excitement.  Life,  instead  of  being 
closed,  as  in  a  sense  it  is,  for  every  married 
woman,  was  in  a  moment  open  and  vague 
again;  the  doors  flung  wide  to  flaming  heavens. 
An  intoxication  of  recovered  youth  and  free- 
dom possessed  her.  The  sleeping  Roger  repre- 
sented things  intolerable  and  outworn.  Why 
should  a  woman  of  her  gifts,  of  her  opportuni- 
ties, be  chained  for  life  to  this  commonplace 
man,  now  that  her  passion  was  over  ?  —  now 
that  she  knew  him  for  what  he  was,  weak, 
feather-brained,  and  vicious  ?  She  looked  at 
him  with  a  kind  of  exaltation,  spurning  him 
from  her  path. 

But  the  immediate  future !  —  the  practical 
steps !  What  kind  of  evidence  would  she  want  ? 
-  what  kind  of  witnesses  ?  Something  more, 
no  doubt,  of  both  than  she  had  already.  She 
must  wait  —  temporize  —  do  nothing  rashly. 
If  it  was  for  Roger's  good  as  well  as  her  own 
that  they  should  be  free  of  each  other  —  and 
she  was  fast  persuading  herself  of  this  —  she 
must,  for  both  their  sakes,  manage  the  hateful 
operation  without  bungling. 


196          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

What  was  the  alternative?  She  seemed  to 
ask  it  of  Roger,  as  she  stood  looking  down  upon 
him.  Patience  ?  —  with  a  man  who  could  never 
sympathize  with  her  intellectually  or  artistically  ? 
-  the  relations  of  married  life  with  a  husband 
who  made  assignations  with  an  old  love,  under 
the  eyes  of  the  whole  neighbourhood  ?  —  the 
narrowing,  cramping  influences  of  English  pro- 
vincial society  ?  No !  she  was  born  for  other 
and  greater  things,  and  she  would  grasp  them. 
"  My  first  duty  is  to  myself  -  -  to  my  own 
development.  We  have  absolutely  no  right 
to  sacrifice  ourselves  —  as  women  have  been 
taught  to  do  for  thousands  of  years. 

Bewildered  by  the  rhetoric  of  her  own 
thoughts,  Daphne  returned  to  her  seat  by  the 
fire,  and  sat  there  wildly  dreaming,  till  once 
more  recalled  to  practical  possibilities  by  the 
passage  of  the  hours  on  the  clock  above  her. 

Miss  Farmer?  Everything,  it  seemed, 
depended  on  her.  But  Daphne  had  no  doubts 
of  her.  Poor  girl !  —  with  her  poverty-stricken 
home,  her  drunken  father  lately  dismissed  from 
his  post,  and  her  evident  inclination  towards 
this  clever  young  fellow  now  employed  in  the 
house  —  Daphne  rejoiced  to  think  of  what 
money  could  do,  in  this  case  at  least;  of  the 
reward  that  should  be  waiting  for  the  girl's 
devotion  when  the  moment  came;  of  the  gifts 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  197 

already  made,  and  the  gratitude  already  evoked. 
No;  she  could  be  trusted;  she  had  every  reason 
to  be  true. 

Some  fitful  sleep  came  to  her  at  last  in  the 
morning  hours.  But  when  Roger  awoke,  she 
was  half-way  through  her  dressing;  and  when 
he  first  saw  her,  he  noticed  nothing  except  that 
she  was  paler  than  usual,  and  confessed  to  a 
broken  night. 

But  as  the  day  wore  on  it  became  plain  to 
everybody  at  Heston  —  to  Roger  first  and  fore- 
most —  that  something  was  much  amiss. 
Daphne  would  not  leave  her  sitting-room  and 
her  sofa;  she  complained  of  headache  and  over- 
fatigue;  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  the  men 
at  work  on  the  new  decoration  of  the  east  wing 
of  the  house,  who  were  clamouring  for  direc- 
tions; and  would  admit  nobody  but  Miss 
Farmer  and  her  maid.  Roger  forced  his  way 
in  once,  only  to  be  vanquished  by  the  traditional 
weapons  of  weakness,  pallor,  and  silence. 
Her  face  contracted  and  quivered  as  his  step 
approached  her;  it  was  as  though  he  trampled 
upon  her ;  and  he  left  her,  awkwardly,  on  tiptoe, 
feeling  himself  as  intrusively  brutal  as  she 
clearly  meant  him  to  feel. 

What  on  earth  was  the  matter?  Some  new 
grievance  against  him,  he  supposed.  After  the 


198 

softening,  the  quasi-reconciliation  of  the  day 
before,  his  chagrin  and  disappointment  were 
great.  Impossible  she  should  know  anything 
of  his  ride  with  Chloe!  There  was  not  a  soul 
in  that  wood;  and  the  place  was  twenty  miles 
from  Heston.  Again  he  felt  the  impulse  to 
blurt  it  all  out  to  her;  but  was  simply  repelled 
and  intimidated  by  this  porcupine  mood  in 
which  she  had  wrapped  herself.  Better  wait 
at  least  till  she  was  a  little  more  normal  again. 
He  went  off  disconsolately  to  a  day's  shooting. 

Meanwhile,  his  own  particular  worry  was 
sharp  enough.  Chloe  had  taken  advantage  of 
their  casual  tete-a-tete,  as  she  had  done  before  on 
several  occasions,  to  claim  something  of  the 
old  relation,  instead  of  accepting  the  new,  like 
a  decent  woman;  and  in  the  face  of  the  tempta- 
tion offered  him  he  had  shown  a  weakness  of 
which  not  only  his  conscience  but  his  pride  wras 
ashamed.  He  realized  perfectly  that  she  had 
been  trying  during  the  whole  autumn  to  recover 
her  former  hold  on  him,  and  he  also  saw  clearly 
and  bitterly  that  he  was  not  strong  enough  to 
resist  her,  should  he  continue  to  be  thrown  with 
her;  and  not  clever  enough  to  baffle  her,  if 
her  will  were  really  set  on  recapturing  him. 
He  was  afraid  of  her,  and  afraid  of  himself. 

What,  then,  must  he  do  ?  As  he  tramped 
about  the  wet  fields  and  plantations  with  a 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          199 

keeper  and  a  few  beaters  after  some  scattered 
pheasants,  he  was  really,  poor  fellow!  arguing 
out  the  riddle  of  his  life.  What  would  Her- 
bert French  advise  him  to  do  ?  —  supposing  he 
could  put  the  question  plainly  to  him,  which  of 
course  was  not  possible.  He  meant  honestly 
and  sincerely  to  keep  straight;  to  do  his  duty 
by  Daphne  and  the  child.  But  he  was  no 
plaster  saint,  and  he  could  not  afford  to  give 
Chloe  Fairmile  too  many  opportunities.  To 
break  at  once,  to  carry  off  Daphne  and  leave 
Heston,  at  least  for  a  time  —  that  was  the  obvi- 
ously prudent  and  reasonable  course.  But  in 
her  present  mood  it  was  of  no  use  for  him  to 
propose  it,  tired  as  she  seemed  to  be  of  Heston, 
and  disappointed  in  the  neighbours:  any  plan 
brought  forward  by  him  was  doomed  before- 
hand. Well  then,  let  him  go  himself;  he  had 
been  so  unhappy  during  the  preceding  weeks 
it  would  be  a  jolly  relief  to  turn  his  back  on 
Heston  for  a  time. 

But  as  soon  as  he  had  taken  his  departure, 
Chloe  perhaps  would  take  hers;  and  if  so, 
Daphne's  jealousy  would  be  worse  than  ever. 
Whatever  deserts  he  might  place  between  him- 
self and  Mrs.  Fairmile,  Daphne  would  imagine 
them  together. 

Meanwhile,  there  was  that  Lilliput  bond, 
that  small,  chafing  entanglement,  which  Chloe 


200          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

had  flung  round  him  in  her  persistence  about 
the  letters.  There  was,  no  doubt,  a  horrid 
scandal  brewing  about  Mrs.  Weightman,  Chloe's 
old  friend  —  a  friend  of  his  own,  too,  in  former 
days.  Through  Chloe's  unpardonable  indiscre- 
tions he  knew  a  great  deal  more  about  this 
lady's  affairs  than  he  had  ever  wished  to  know. 
And  he  well  remembered  the  letter  in  question; 
a  letter  on  which  the  political  life  or  death  of 
one  of  England's  most  famous  men  might  easily 
turn,  supposing  it  got  out.  But  the  letter 
was  safe  enough;  not  the  least  likely  to  come 
into  dangerous  hands,  in  spite  of  Chloe's  absurd 
hypotheses.  It  was  somewhere,  no  doubt, 
among  the  boxes  in  the  locked  room;  and  who 
could  possibly  get  hold  of  it?  At  the  same 
time  he  realized  that  as  long  as  he  had  not 
found  and  returned  it  she  would  still  have  a 
certain  claim  upon  him,  a  certain  right  to  harass 
him  with  inquiries  and  confidential  interviews, 
which,  as  a  man  of  honour,  he  could  not  alto- 
gether deny. 

A  pheasant  got  up  across  a  ploughed  field 
where  in  the  mild  season  the  young  corn  was 
already  green.  Roger  shot,  and  missed;  the 
bird  floated  gaily  down  the  wind,  and  the  head 
keeper,  in  disgust,  muttered  bad  language  to 
the  underling  beside  him. 

But   after  that   Barnes  was  twice  as  cheerful 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          201 

as  before.  He  whistled  as  he  walked;  his  shoot- 
ing recovered;  and  by  the  time  the  dark  fell, 
keepers  and  beaters  were  once  more  his  friends. 

The  fact  was  that  just  as  he  missed  the 
pheasant  he  had  taken  his  resolution,  and  seen 
his  way.  He  would  have  another  determined 
hunt  for  that  letter;  he  would  also  find  and 
destroy  his  own  letters  to  Chloe  —  those  she  had 
returned  to  him  —  which  must  certainly  never 
fall  into  Daphne's  hands;  and  then  he  would 
go  away  to  London  or  the  North,  to  some  place 
whence  he  could  write  both  to  Chloe  Fairmile 
and  to  his  wife.  Women  like  Daphne  were  too 
quick;  they  could  get  out  a  dozen  words  to 
your  one;  but  give  a  man  time,  and  he  could 
express  himself.  And,  therewith,  a  great  ten- 
derness and  compunction  in  this  man's  heart, 
and  a  steady  determination  to  put  things  right. 
For  was  not  Daphne  Beatty's  mother?  and 
was  he  not  in  truth  very  fond  of  her,  if  only  she 
would  let  him  be  ? 

Now  then  for  the  hunt.  As  he  had  never 
destroyed  the  letters,  they  must  exist;  but,  in 
the  name  of  mischief,  where  ?  He  seemed  to 
remember  thrusting  his  own  letters  to  Chloe 
into  a  desk  of  his  schoolboy  days  which  used  to 
stand  in  his  London  sitting-room.  Very  likely 
some  of  hers  might  be  there  too.  But  the 
thought  of  his  own  had  by  now  become  a  much 


202          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

greater  anxiety  to  him  than  the  wish  to  placate 
Chloe.  For  he  was  most  uncomfortably  aware 
that  his  correspondence  with  Chloe  during  their 
short  engagement  had  been  of  a  very  different 
degree  of  fervour  from  that  shown  in  the  letters 
to  Daphne  under  similar  circumstances.  As 
for  the  indelicacy  and  folly  of  leaving  such 
documents  to  chance,  he  cursed  it  sorely. 

How  to  look?  He  pondered  it.  He  did 
not  even  know  which  attic  it  was  that  had 
been  reserved  at  the  time  of  the  letting  of 
Heston,  and  now  held  some  of  the  old  London 
furniture  and  papers.  Well,  he  must  manage 
it,  "burgle"  his  own  house,  if  necessary.  What 
an  absurd  situation!  Should  he  consult  his 
mother?  No;  better  not. 

That  evening  General  Hobson  was  expected 
for  a  couple  of  nights.  On  going  up  to  dress 
for  dinner,  Roger  discovered  that  he  had  been 
banished  to  a  room  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
house,  where  his  servant  was  now  putting  out 
his  clothes.  He  turned  very  white,  and  went 
straight  to  his  wife. 

Daphne  was  on  the  sofa  as  before,  and 
received  him  in  silence. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this,  Daphne?" 
The  tone  was  quiet,  but  the  breathing  quick. 

She  looked  at  him  —  bracing  herself. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          203 

"I  must  be  alone!    I  had  no  sleep  last  night." 

"You  had  neuralgia?" 

"I  don't  know  —  I  had  no  sleep.  I  must 
be  alone." 

His  eyes  and  hers  met. 

"For  to-night,  then,"  he  said  briefly.  "I 
don't  know  what 's  the  matter  with  you,  Daphne 
and  I  suppose  it  's  no  use  to  'ask  you.  I  thought, 
yesterday  —  but  —  however,  there  's  no  time 
to  talk  now.  Are  you  coming  down  to  dinner  ?'* 

"Not  to  dinner.  I  will  come  down  for  an 
hour  afterwards." 

He  went  away,  and  before  he  had  reached 
his  own  room,  and  while  the  heat  of  his  sud- 
den passion  still  possessed  him,  it  occurred 
to  him  that  Daphne's  behaviour  might  after  all 
prove  a  godsend.  That  night  he  would  make 
his  search,  with  no  risk  of  disturbing  his  wife. 

The  dinner  in  the  newly  decorated  dining- 
room  went  heavily.  Lady  Barnes  had  grown 
of  late  more  and  more  anxious  and  depressed. 
She  had  long  ceased  to  assert  herself  in  Daphne's 
presence,  and  one  saw  her  as  the  British  matron 
in  adversity,  buffeted  by  forces  she  did  not 
understand;  or  as  some  minor  despot  snuffed 
out  by  a  stronger. 

The  General,  who  had  only  arrived  just  in 
time  to  dress,  inquired  in  astonishment  for 


204          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Daphne,  and  was  told  by  Roger  that  his  wife 
was  not  well,  but  would  come  down  for  a  little 
wrhile  after  dinner.  In  presence  of  the  new 
splendours  of  Heston,  the  General  had  —  in 
Roger's  company  —  very  little  to  say.  He  made 
the  vague  remark  that  the  dining-room  was 
"very  fine,"  but  he  should  not  have  known  it 
again.  Where  was  the  portrait  of  Edward, 
and  the  full-length  of  Edward's  father  by  Sir 
Francis  Grant  ?  Lady  Barnes  drew  herself  up, 
and  said  nothing.  Roger  hastily  replied  that 
he  believed  they  were  now  in  the  passage  lead- 
ing to  the  billiard-room. 

"What!  that  dark  corner!"  cried  the  General, 
looking  with  both  distaste  and  hostility  at  the 
famous  Signorelli  —  a  full-length  nude  St.  Sebas- 
tian, bound  and  pierced  —  which  had  replaced 
them  on  the  dining-room  wall.  Who  on  earth 
ever  saw  such  a  picture  in  a  dining-room  ? 
Roger  must  be  a  fool  to  allow  it! 

Afterwards  the  General  and  Lady  Barnes 
wandered  through  the  transformed  house,  in 
general  agreement  as  to  the  ugliness  and  extrava- 
gance of  almost  everything  that  had  been  done, 
an  agreement  that  was  as  balm  to  the  harassed 
spirits  of  the  lady. 

"What  have  they  spent?"  asked  the  Gen- 
eral, under  his  breath,  as  they  returned  to 
the  drawing-room  -  "thousands  and  thousands, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          205 

I  should  think!  And  there  was  no  need  for 
them  to  spend  a  penny.  It  is  a  sinful  waste, 
and  no  one  should  waste  money  in  these  days 
—  there  are  too  many  unemployed!"  He  drew 
up  his  spare  person,  with  a  terrier-like  shake 
of  the  head  and  shoulders,  as  of  one  repudiat- 
ing Mammon  and  all  its  works. 

"Daphne  has  simply  no  idea  of  the  value 
of  money!"  Lady  Barnes  complained,  also 
under  her  breath.  They  were  passing  along 
one  of  the  side  corridors  of  the  house,  and  there 
was  no  one  in  sight.  But  Roger's  mother  was 
evidently  uneasy,  as  though  Daphne  might  at  any 
moment  spring  from  the  floor,  or  emerge  from 
the  walls.  The  General  was  really  sorry  for  her. 

"It's  like  all  the  rest  of  them  —  Americans, 
I  mean,"  he  declared;  "  they  have  n't  our  sense  of 
responsibility.  I  saw  plenty  of  that  in  the  States." 

Lady  Barnes  acquiesced.  She  was  always 
soothed  by  the  General's  unfaltering  views  of 
British  superiority. 

They  found  Daphne  in  the  drawing-room  — 
a  ghostly  Daphne,  in  white,  and  covered  with 
diamonds.  She  made  a  little  perfunctory  con- 
versation with  them,  avoided  all  mention  of 
the  house,  and  presently,  complaining  again  of 
headache,  went  back  to  her  room  after  barely 
an  hour  downstairs. 

The  General  whistled  to  himself,  as  he  also 


206 

retired  to  bed,  after  another  and  more  private 
conversation  with  Lady  Barnes,  and  half  an 
hour's  billiards  with  a  very  absent-minded  host. 
By  Jove,  Laura  wanted  a  change!  He  rejoiced 
that  he  was  to  escort  her  on  the  morrow  to  the 
London  house  of  some  cheerful  and  hospitable 
relations.  Dollars,  it  seemed,  were  not  every- 
thing, and  he  wished  to  heaven  that  Roger 
had  been  content  to  marry  some  plain  English 
girl,  with,  say,  a  couple  of  thousand  a  year. 
Even  the  frugal  General  did  not  see  how  it  could 
have  been  done  on  less.  Roger  no  doubt  had 
been  a  lazy,  self-indulgent  beggar.  Yet  he 
seemed  a  good  deal  steadier,  and  more  sensible 
than  he  used  to  be;  in  spite  of  his  wife,  and  the 
pouring  out  of  dollars.  And  there  was  no  doubt 
that  he  had  grown  perceptibly  older.  The 
General  felt  a  vague  pang  of  regret,  so  rare  and  so 
compelling  had  been  the  quality  of  Roger's  early 
youth,  measured  at  least  by  physical  standards. 

The  house  sank  into  sleep  and  silence. 
Roger,  before  saying  good-night  to  his  mother, 
had  let  fall  a  casual  question  as  to  the  where- 
abouts of  the  room  which  still  contained  the 
debris  of  the  London  house.  He  must,  he  said, 
look  up  two  or  three  things,  some  share  certifi- 
cates of  his  father's,  for  instance,  that  he  had 
been  in  want  of  for  some  time.  Lady  Barnes 


207 

directed  him.  At  the  end  of  the  nursery  wing, 
to  the  right.  But  in  the  morning  one  of  the 
housemaids  would  show  him.  Had  she  the 
key  ?  She  produced  it,  thought  no  more  of 
it,  and  went  to  bed. 

He  waited  in  his  room  till  after  midnight,  then 
took  off  his  shoes,  his  pride  smarting,  and 
emerged.  There  was  one  electric  light  burning 
in  the  hall  below.  This  gave  enough  glimmer 
on  the  broad  open  landing  for  him  to  grope  his 
way  by,  and  he  went  noiselessly  toward  the 
staircase  leading  up  to  Beatty's  rooms.  Once, 
just  as  he  reached  it,  he  thought  he  caught  the 
faint  noise  of  low  talking  somewhere  in  the 
house,  an  indeterminate  sound  not  to  be  located. 
But  when  he  paused  to  listen,  it  had  ceased 
and  he  supposed  it  to  be  only  a  windy  murmur 
of  the  night. 

He  gained  the  nursery  wing.  So  far,  of  course, 
the  way  was  perfectly  familiar.  He  rarely 
passed  an  evening  without  going  to  kiss  Beatty 
in  her  cot.  Outside  the  door  of  the  night- 
nursery  he  waited  a  moment  to  listen.  Was 
she  snoozling  among  her  blankets  ?  —  the  dar- 
ling! She  still  sucked  her  thumb,  sometimes, 
poor  baby,  to  send  her  to  sleep,  and  it  was  another 
reason  for  discontent  with  Miss  Farmer  that 
she  would  make  a  misdemeanour  of  it.  Really, 
that  woman  got  on  his  nerves! 


208          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Beyond  the  nursery  he  had  no  knowledge 
whatever  of  his  own  house.  The  attics  at  Heston 
were  large  and  rambling.  He  believed  the  ser- 
vants were  all  in  the  other  wing,  but  was  not  sure; 
he  could  only  hope  that  he  might  not  stumble 
on  some  handmaiden's  room  by  mistake! 

A  door  to  the  right,  at  the  end  of  the  passage. 
He  tried  the  key.  Thank  goodness!  It  turned 
without  too  much  noise,  and  he  found  himself 
on  the  threshold  of  a  big  lumber-room,  his 
candle  throwing  lines  of  dusty  light  across  it. 
He  closed  the  door,  set  down  the  light,  and 
looked  round  him  in  despair.  The  room  was 
crowded  with  furniture,  trunks,  and  boxes,  in 
considerable  confusion.  It  looked  as  though 
the  men  employed  to  move  them  had  piled 
them  there  as  they  pleased;  and  Roger  shrewdly 
suspected  that  his  mother,  from  whom,  in 
spite  of  her  square  and  businesslike  appearance, 
his  own  indolence  was  inherited,  had  shrunk 
till  now  from  the  task  of  disturbing  them. 

He  began  to  rummage  a  little.  Papers  belong- 
ing to  his  father  —  an  endless  series  of  them; 
some  in  tin  boxes  marked  with  the  names  of 
various  companies,  mining  and  other;  some  in 
leather  cases,  reminiscent  of  politics,  and  labelled 
"Parliamentary"  or  "Local  Government 
Board."  Trunks  containing  Court  suits,  yeo- 
manry uniforms,  and  the  like;  a  medley  of  old 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          209 

account  books,  photographs,  worthless  volumes, 
and  broken  ornaments:  all  the  refuse  that  our 
too  complex  life  piles  about  us  was  represented 
in  the  chaos  of  the  room.  Roger  pulled  and 
pushed  as  cautiously  as  he  could,  but  making, 
inevitably,  some  noise  in  the  process.  At  last! 
He  caught  sight  of  some  belongings  of  his  own 
and  was  soon  joyfully  detaching  the  old  Eton 
desk,  of  which  he  was  in  search,  from  a  pile  of 
miscellaneous  rubbish.  In  doing  so,  to  his  dis- 
may, he  upset  a  couple  of  old  cardboard  boxes 
filled  with  letters,  and  they  fell  with  some 
clatter.  He  looked  round  instinctively  at  the 
door;  but  it  was  shut,  and  the  house  was  well 
built,  the  walls  and  ceilings  reasonably  sound- 
proof. The  desk  was  only  latched  --  beastly 
carelessness,  of  course  !  —  and  inside  it  were  three 
thick  piles  of  letters,  and  a  few  loose  ones  below. 
His  own  letters  to  Chloe;  and  —  by  George  !- 
the  lost  one! — among  the  others.  He  opened 
it  eagerly,  ran  it  through.  Yes,  the  very  thing! 
What  luck!  He  laid  it  carefully  aside  a. moment 
on  a  trunk  near  by,  and  sat  with  the  other  letters 
on  his  lap. 

His  fingers  played  with  them.  He  almost 
determined  to  take  them  down  unopened,  and 
burn  them,  as  they  were,  in  his  own  room;  but 
in  the  end  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  look  at  them  once  more.  He  pulled  off  an 


210          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

india-rubber  band  from  the  latest  packet,  and 
was  soon  deep  in  them,  at  first  half  ashamed, 
half  contemptuous.  Calf  love,  of  course!  And 
he  had  been  a  precious  fool  to  write  such  things. 
Then,  presently,  the  headlong  passion  of  them 
began  to  affect  him,  to  set  his  pulses  swinging. 
He  fell  to  wondering  at  his  own  bygone  facility, 
his  own  powers  of  expression.  How  did  he 
ever  write  such  a  style!  He,  who  could  hardly 
get  through  a  note  now  without  blots  and 
labour.  Self-pity  grew  upon  him,  and  self- 
admiration.  By  heaven!  How  could  a  woman 
treat  a  man  —  a  man  who  could  write  to  her  like 
this  —  as  Chloe  had  treated  him! 

The  old  smart  revived;  or  rather,  the  old 
indelible  impressions  of  it  left  on  nerve  and 
brain. 

The  letters  lay  on  his  knee.  He  sat  brood- 
ing: his  hands  upon  the  packets,  his  head 
bowed.  One  might  have  thought  him  a  man 
overcome  and  dissolved  by  the  enervating 
memories  of  passion;  but  in  truth,  he  was 
gradually  and  steadily  reacting  against  them; 
resuming,  and  this  time  finally,  as  far  as  Chloe 
Fairmile  was  concerned,  a  man's  mastery  of 
himself.  He  thought  of  her  unkindness  and 
cruelty  —  of  the  misery  he  had  suffered  —  and 
now  of  the  reckless  caprice  with  which,  during 
the  preceding  weeks,  she  had  tried  to  entangle 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          211 

him  afresh,  with  no  respect  for  his  married  life, 
for  his  own  or  Daphne's  peace  of  mind. 

He  judged  her,  and  therewith,  himself.  Look- 
ing back  upon  the  four  years  since  Chloe  Fair- 
mile  had  thrown  him  over,  it  seemed  to  him 
that,  in  some  ways,  he  had  made  a  good  job 
of  his  life,  and,  in  others,  a  bad  one.  As  to 
the  money,  that  was  neither  here  nor  there. 
It  had  been  amusing  to  have  so  much  of  it; 
though  of  late  Daphne's  constant  reminders 
that  the  fortune  was  hers  and  not  his,  had  been 
like  grit  in  the  mouth.  But  he  did  not  find 
that  boundless  wealth  had  made  as  much  differ- 
ence to  him  as  he  had  expected.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  had  been  much  happier  with  Daphne 
than  he  had  thought  he  should  be,  up  to  the 
time  of  their  coming  to  Heston.  She  was  n't 
easy  to  live  with,  and  she  had  been  often,  before 
now,  ridiculously  jealous;  but  you  could  not, 
apparently,  live  with  a  woman  without  getting 
very  fond  of  her  —  he  could  n't  —  especially  if 
she  had  given  you  a  child;  and  if  Daphne  had 
turned  against  him  now,  for  a  bit  —  well,  he 
could  not  swear  to  himself  that  he  had  been 
free  from  blame;  and  it  perhaps  served  him 
right  for  having  gone  out  deliberately  to  the 
States  to  marry  money — with  a  wife  thrown 
in  —  in  that  shabby  sort  of  way. 

But,    now,    to    straighten    out    this    coil;  to 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

shake  himself  finally  free  of  Chloe,  and  make 
Daphne  happy  again!  He  vowed  to  himself 
that  he  could  and  would  make  her  happy  — • 
just  as  she  had  been  in  their  early  days  together. 
The  memory  of  her  lying  white  and  exhausted 
after  child-birth,  with  the  little  dark  head 
beside  her,  came  across  him,  and  melted  him; 
he  thought  of  her  with  longing  and  tenderness. 

With  a  deep  breath  he  raised  himself  on 
his  seat;  in  the  old  Greek  phrase,  "the  gods 
breathed  courage  into  his  soul";  and  as  he 
stretched  out  an  indifferent  hand  toward  Chloe's 
letters  on  the  trunk,  Roger  Barnes  had  perhaps 
reached  the  highest  point  of  his  moral  history; 
he  had  become  conscious  of  himself  as  a  moral 
being  choosing  good  or  evil;  and  he  had  chosen 
good.  It  was  not  so  much  that  his  conscience 
accused  him  greatly  with  regard  to  Chloe. 
For  that  his  normal  standards  were  not  fine 
enough.  It  was  rather  a  kind  of  "serious  call," 
something  akin  to  conversion,  or  that  might  have 
been  conversion,  which  befell  him  in  this  dusty 
room,  amid  the  night-silence. 

As  he  took  up  Chloe's  letters  he  did  not 
notice  that  the  door  had  quietly  opened  behind 
him,  and  that  a  figure  stood  on  the  threshold. 

A  voice  struck  into  the  stillness. 

"Roger!" 

He  turned  with  a  movement  that  scattered 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          213 

all  his  own  letters  on  the  floor.  Daphne  stood 
before  him  —  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  mad  woman. 
Her  hand  shook  on  the  handle  of  the  door. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  She  flung 
out  the  question  like  a  blow. 

"Hallo,  Daphne!  —  is  that  you?"  He  tried 
to  laugh.  "I  'm  only  looking  up  some  old 
papers;  no  joke,  in  all  this  rubbish."  He 
pointed  to  it. 

"What  old  papers?" 

"Well,  you  needn't  catechize  me!"  he  said, 
nettled  by  her  tone,  "or  not  in  that  way,  at 
any  rate.  I  could  n't  sleep,  and  I  came  up 
here  to  look  for  something  I  wanted.  Why 
did  you  shut  your  door  on  me?" 

He  looked  at  her  intently,  his  lips  twitching 
a  little.  Daphne  came  nearer. 

"It  must  be  something  you  want  very  badly  — 
something  you  don't  want  other  people  to  see 
—  something  you  're  ashamed  of !  —  or  you 
would  n't  be  searching  for  it  at  this  time  of 
night."  She  raised  her  eyes,  still  with  the  same 
strange  yet  flaming  quiet,  from  the  littered 
floor  to  his  face.  Then  suddenly  glancing  again 
at  the  scattered  papers  -  :'  That 's  your  hand- 
writing !  —  they  're  your  letters !  letters  to  Mrs. 
Fairmile!" 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  make  of  that?" 
cried  Roger,  half  wroth,  half  inclined  to  laugh. 


214          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"If  you  want  to  know,  they  are  the  letters  I 
wrote  to  Chloe  Fairmile;  and  I,  like  a  careless 
beast,  never  destroyed  them,  and  they  were 
stuffed  away  here.  I  have  long  meant  to  get 
at  them  and  burn  them,  and  as  you  turned  me 
out  to-night " 

"  What  is  that  letter  in  your  hand  ?"  exclaimed 
Daphne,  interrupting  him. 

"  Oh,  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  you  —  or 
me  -  '  he  said,  hastily  making  a  movement 
to  put  it  in  his  coat  pocket.  But  in  a  second, 
Daphne,  with  a  cry,  had  thrown  herself  upon 
him,  to  his  intense  amazement,  wrestling  with 
him,  in  a  wild  excitement.  And  as  she  did  so, 
a  thin  woman,  with  frightened  eyes,  in  a  nurse's 
dress,  came  quickly  into  the  room,  as  though 
Daphne's  cry  had  signalled  to  her.  She  was 
behind  Roger,  and  he  was  not  aware  of  her 
approach. 

"Daphne,  don't  be  such  a  little  fool!"  he 
said  indignantly,  holding  her  off  with  one 
hand,  determined  not  to  give  her  the  letter. 

Then,  all  in  a  moment  —  without,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  any  but  the  mildest  defensive 
action  on  his  part  —  Daphne  stumbled  and  fell. 

"Daphne!  — I    say!  - 

He  was  stooping  over  her  in  great  distress 
to  lift  her  up,  when  he  felt  himself  vehemently 
put  aside  by  a  woman's  hand. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          215 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  sir! 
Let  me  go  to  her." 

He  turned  in  bewilderment.  "Miss  Farmer! 
What  on  earth  are  you  doing  here?" 

But  in  his  astonishment  he  had  given  way  to 
her,  and  he  fell  back  pale  and  frowning,  while, 
without  replying,  she  lifted  Daphne  —  who  had 
a  cut  on  her  forehead  and  was  half  fainting  — 
from  the  ground. 

"Don't  come  near  her,  sir!"  said  the  nurse, 
again  warding  him  off.  'You  have  done  quite 
enough.  Let  me  attend  to  her." 

"You  imagine  that  was  my  doing?"  said 
Roger  grimly.  "Let  me  assure  you  it  was 
nothing  of  the  kind.  And  pray,  were  you 
listening  at  the  door  ?" 

Miss  Farmer  vouchsafed  no  reply.  She  was 
half  leading,  half  supporting  Daphne,  who 
leant  against  her.  As  they  neared  the  door, 
Roger,  who  had  been  standing  dumb  again, 
started  forward. 

"Let  me  take  her,"  he  said  sternly.  "Daphne! 
—  send  this  woman  away." 

But  Daphne  only  shuddered,  and  putting 
out  a  shaking  hand,  she  waved  him  from  her. 

"You  see  in  what  a  state  she  is!"  cried  Miss 
Farmer,  with  a  withering  look.  "If  you  must 
speak  to  her,  put  it  off,  sir,  at  least  till 
to-morrow." 


216          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Roger  drew  back.  A  strange  sense  of  inex- 
plicable disaster  rushed  upon  him.  He  som- 
brely watched  them  pass  through  the  door 
and  disappear. 

Daphne  reached  her  own  room.  As  the 
door  closed  upon  them  she  turned  to  her  com- 
panion, holding  out  the  handkerchief  stained 
with  blood  she  had  been  pressing  to  her  temple. 

"You  saw  it  all?"  she  said  imperiously — 
"the  whole  thing?" 

"All,"  said  Miss  Farmer.  "It's  a  mercy 
you  're  not  more  hurt." 

Daphne  gave  a  hysterical   laugh. 

"It  '11  just  do  —  I  think  it  '11  do!  But  you  '11 
have  to  make  a  good  deal  out  of  it." 

And  sinking  down  by  the  fire,  she  burst  into 
a  passion  of  wild  tears. 

The  nurse  brought  her  sal  volatile,  and  washed 
the  small  cut  above  her  eyebrow. 

"It  was  lucky  we  heard  him,"  she  said 
triumphantly.  "I  guessed  at  once  he  must 
be  looking  for  something  —  I  knew  that  room 
was  full  of  papers." 

A  knock  at  the  door  startled  them. 

"Never  mind."  The  nurse  hurried  across 
the  room.  "It's  locked." 

"How  is  my  wife?"  said  Roger's  strong, 
and  as  it  seemed,  threatening  voice  outside. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          217 

"She  '11  be  all  right,  sir,  I  hope,  if  you  '11 
leave  her  to  rest.  But  I  won't  answer  for  the 
consequences  if  she  's  disturbed  any  more." 

There  was  a  pause,  as  though  of  hesitation. 
Then  Roger's  step  receded. 

Daphne  pushed  her  hair  back  from  her  face, 
and  sat  staring  into  the  fire.  Everything  was 
decided  now.  Yet  she  had  rushed  upstairs 
on  Miss  Farmer's  information  with  no  definite 
purpose.  She  only  knew  that  —  once  again 
-  Roger  was  hiding  something  from  her  — 
doing  something  secret  and  disgraceful  —  and 
she  suddenly  resolved  to  surprise  and  con- 
front him.  With  a  mind  still  vaguely  running 
on  the  legal  aspects  of  what  she  meant  to  do,  she 
had  bade  the  nurse  follow  her.  The  rest  had 
been  half  spontaneous,  half  acting.  It  had 
struck  her  imagination  midway  how  the  inci- 
dent could  be  turned  —  and  used. 

She  was  triumphant;  but  from  sheer  excite- 
ment she  wept  and  sobbed  through  the  greater 
part  of  the  night. 


PART  in 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  WAS  a  cheerless  February  day,  dark  and 
slaty  overhead,  dusty  below.  In  the  East 
End  streets  paper  and  straw,  children's  curls, 
girls'  pinafores  and  women's  skirts  were  driven 
back  and  forward  by  a  bitter  wind;  there 
was  an  ugly  light  on  ugly  houses,  with  none  of 
that  kind  trickery  of  mist  or  smoke  which  can 
lend  some  grace  on  normal  days  even  to  Com- 
mercial Street,  or  to  the  network  of  lanes  north 
of  the  Bethnal  Green  Road.  The  pitiless  wind 
swept  the  streets  —  swept  the  children  and  the 
grown-ups  out  of  them  into  the  houses,  or  any 
available  shelter;  and  in  the  dark  and  chilly 
emptiness  of  the  side  roads  one  might  listen 
in  fancy  for  the  stealthy  returning  steps  of  spirits 
crueller  than  Cold,  more  tyrannous  than  Poverty, 
coming  to  seize  upon  their  own. 

In  one  of  these  side  streets  stood  a  house 
larger  than  its  neighbours,  in  a  bit  of  front 
garden,  with  some  decrepit  rust-bitten-railings 
between  it  and  the  road.  It  was  an  old  dwell- 
ing overtaken  by  the  flood  of  tenement  houses, 
which  spread  north,  south,  east,  and  west  of  it. 

221 


222          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Its  walls  were  no  less  grimy  than  its  neighbours' ; 
but  its  windows  were  outlined  in  cheerful  white 
paint,  firelight  sparkled  through  its  unshuttered 
panes,  and  a  bright  green  door  with  a  brass 
knocker  completed  its  pleasant  air.  There  were 
always  children  outside  the  Vicarage  railings  on 
winter  evenings,  held  there  by  the  spell  of  the 
green  door  and  the  firelight. 

Inside  the  firelit  room  to  the  left  of  the  front 
pathway,  two  men  were  standing  —  one  of 
whom  had  just  entered  the  house. 

"My  dear  Penrose! — how  very  good  of  you 
to  come.  I  know  how  frightfully  busy  you  are." 

The  man  addressed  put  down  his  hat  and 
stick,  and  hastily  smoothed  back  some  tumbling 
black  hair  which  interfered  with  spectacled 
eyes  already  hampered  by  short  sight.  He 
was  a  tall,  lank,  powerful  fellow;  anyone 
acquainted  with  the  West-country  would  have 
known  him  for  one  of  the  swarthy,  gray-eyed 
Cornish  stock. 

"  I  am  pretty  busy  -  -  but  your  tale,  Herbert, 
was  a  startler.  If  I  can  help  you  —  or  Barnes 
—  command  me.  He  is  coming  this  afternoon  ?" 

Herbert  French  pointed  his  visitor  to  a  chair. 

"  Of  course.  And  another  man  —  whom  I  met 
casually,  in  Pall  Mall  this  morning  —  and  had 
half  an  hour's  talk  with  —  an  American  naval 
officer  —  an  old  acquaintance  of  Elsie's  - 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          223 

Captain  Boyson  —  will  join  us  also.  I  met  him 
at  Harvard  before  our  wedding,  and  liked  him. 
He  has  just  come  over  with  his  sister  for  a  short 
holiday,  and  I  ran  across  him." 

"Is  there  any  particular  point  in  his  join- 
ing us  ?" 

Herbert  French  expounded.  Boyson  had  been 
an  old  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Roger  Barnes 
before  her  marriage.  He  knew  a  good  deal 
about  the  Barnes  story-  "feels,  so  I  gathered, 
very  strongly  about  it,  and  on  the  man's  side; 
and  when  I  told  him  that  Roger  had  just  arrived 
and  was  coming  to  take  counsel  with  you  and 
me  this  afternoon,  he  suddenly  asked  if  he  might 
come,  too.  I  was  rather  taken  aback.  I  told 
him  that  we  were  going,  of  course,  to  consider 
the  case  entirely  from  the  English  point  of  view. 
He  still  said,  'Let  me  come;  I  may  be  of  use  to 
you.'  So  I  could  only  reply  it  must  rest  with 
Roger.  They  '11  show  him  first  into  the 
dining-room." 

Penrose  nodded.  "All  right,  as  long  as  he 
does  n't  mind  his  national  toes  trampled  upon. 
So  these  are  your  new  quarters,  old  fellow?" 

His  eyes  travelled  round  the  small  book-lined 
room,  with  its  shelves  of  poetry,  history,  and 
theology;  its  parish  litter;  its  settle  by  the 
fire,  on  which  lay  a  doll  and  a  child's  picture- 
book;  back  to  the  figure  of  the  new  vicar, 


224          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

who  stood,  pipe  in  hand,  before  the  hearth, 
clad  in  a  shabby  serge  suit,  his  collar  alone 
betraying  him.  French's  white  hair  showed 
even  whiter  than  of  old  above  the  delicately 
blanched  face;  from  his  natural  slenderness 
and  smallness  the  East  End  and  its  life  had  by 
now  stripped  every  superfluous  ounce;  yet, 
ethereal  as  his  aspect  was,  not  one  element  of 
the  Meredithian  trilogy  —  " flesh,"  "blood,"  or 
"spirit"  -was  lacking  in  it. 

"Yes,  we've  settled  in,"  he  said  quietly,  as 
Penrose  took  stock. 

"And  you  like  it?" 

"We  do." 

The  phrase  was  brief;  nor  did  it  seem  to 
be  going  to  lead  to  anything  more  expansive. 
Penrose  smiled. 

"Well,  now"  -he  bent  forward,  with  a 
professional  change  of  tone  -  "  before  he  arrives, 
where  precisely  is  this  unhappy  business  ?  I 
gather,  by  the  way,  that  Barnes  has  got 
practically  all  his  legal  advice  from  the 
other  side,  though  the  solicitors  here  have 
been  cooperating  ? ' ' 

French  nodded.  "I  am  still  rather  vague 
myself.  Roger  only  arrived  from  New  York 
the  day  before  yesterday.  His  uncle,  General 
Hobson,  died  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  Roger  came 
rushing  home,  as  I  understand,  to  see  if  he 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          225 

could  make  any  ready  money  out  of  his  inheri- 
tance. Money,  in  fact,  seems  to  be  his  chief 
thought." 

"Money?  What  for?  Mrs.  Barnes's  suit 
was  surely  settled  long  ago?" 

"  Oh,  yes  —  months  ago.  She  got  her  decree 
and  the  custody  of  the  child  in  July." 

"Remind  me  of  the  details.  Barnes  refused 
to  plead?" 

"  Certainly.  By  the  advice  of  the  lawyers 
on  both  sides,  he  refused,  as  an  Englishman,  to 
acknowledge  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Court." 

"But  he  did  what  he  could  to  stop  the  thing ?" 

"Of  course.  He  rushed  out  after  his  wife 
as  soon  as  he  could  trace  where  she  had  gone; 
and  he  made  the  most  desperate  attempts  to 
alter  her  purpose.  His  letters,  as  far  as  I  could 
make  them  out,  were  heart-rending.  I  very 
nearly  went  over  to  try  and  help  him,  but  it 
was  impossible  to  leave  my  work.  Mrs.  Barnes 
refused  to  see  him.  She  was  already  at  Sioux 
Falls,  and  had  begun  the  residence  necessary 
to  bring  her  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  South 
Dakota  Court.  Roger,  however,  forced  one  or 
two  interviews  with  her  —  most  painful  scenes ! 
-but  found  her  quite  immovable.  At  the 
same  time  she  was  much  annoyed  and  excited 
by  the  legal  line  that  he  was  advised  to  take; 
and  there  was  a  moment  when  she  tried  to 


226          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

bribe  him  to  accept  the  divorce  and  submit 
to  the  American  court." 

"To  bribe  him!     With  money?" 

"No;  with  the  child.  Beatty  at  first  was 
hidden  away,  and  Roger  could  find  no  traces 
of  her.  But  for  a  few  weeks  she  was  sent  to 
stay  with  a  Mrs.  Verrier  at  Philadelphia,  and 
Roger  was  allowed  to  see  her,  while  Mrs.  Barnes 
negotiated.  It  was  a  frightful  dilemma!  If 
he  submitted,  Mrs.  Barnes  promised  that  Beatty 
should  go  to  him  for  two  months  every  year;  if 
not,  and  she  obtained  her  decree,  and  the 
custody  of  the  child,  as  she  was  quite  confident 
of  doing,  he  should  never  —  as  far  as  she  could 
secure  it  —  see  Beatty  again.  He  too,  fore- 
saw that  she  would  win  her  suit.  He  was  sorely 
tempted;  but  he  stood  firm.  Then  before  he 
could  make  up  his  mind  what  to  do  as  to  the 
child,  the  suit  came  on,  Mrs.  Barnes  got  her 
decree,  and  the  custody  of  the  little  girl." 

"On  the  ground  of  'cruelty/  I  understand, 
and  'indignities'?" 

French  nodded.     His  thin  cheek  flushed. 

"And  by  the  help  of  evidence  that  any  liar 
could  supply!" 

"Who  were  her  witnesses  ?" 

"  Beatty 's  nurse  —  one  Agnes  Farmer  —  and 
a  young  fellow  who  had  been  employed  on 
the  decorative  work  at  Heston.  There  were 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          227 

relations  between  these  two,  and  Roger  tells  me 
they  have  married  lately,  on  a  partnership 
bought  by  Mrs.  Barnes.  While  the  work  was 
going  on  at  Heston  the  young  man  used  to  put 
up  at  an  inn  in  the  country  town,  and  talk 
scandal  at  the  bar." 

"  Then  there  was  some  local  scandal  —  on  the 
subject  of  Barnes  and  Mrs.  Fairmile?" 

"Possibly.  Scandal  pour  rire!  Not  a  soul 
believed  that  there  was  anything  more  in  it 
than  mischief  on  the  woman's  side,  and  a  kind 
of  incapacity  for  dealing  with  a  woman  as  she 
deserved,  on  the  man's.  Mrs.  Fairmile  has 
been  an  intrigante  from  her  cradle.  Barnes 
was  at  one  time  deeply  in  love  with  her.  His  wife 
became  jealous  of  her  after  the  marriage,  and 
threw  them  together,  by  way  of  getting  at  the 
truth,  and  he  shilly-shallied  with  the  situation, 
instead  of  putting  a  prompt  end  to  it,  as  of 
course  he  ought  to  have  done.  He  was  honestly 
fond  of  his  wife  the  whole  time,  and  devoted 
to  his  home  and  his  child." 

"Well,  she  didn't  plead,  you  say,  anything 
more  than  'cruelty'  and  'indignities'.  The 
scandal,  such  as  it  was,  was  no  doubt  part  of 
the  'cruelty'?" 

French  assented. 

"And  you  suspect  that  money  played  a 
great  part  in  the  whole  transaction?" 


228          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"  I  don't  suspect  —  the  evidence  goes  a  long 
way  beyond  that.  Mrs.  Barnes  bought  the 
show!  I  am  told  there  are  a  thousand  ways  of 
doing  it." 

Penrose  smoked  and  pondered. 

"Well,  then  —  what  happened?  I  imagine 
that  by  this  time  Barnes  had  not  much  affec- 
tion left  for  his  wife?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  French,  hesitating.  "I 
believe  the  whole  thing  was  a  great  blow  to  him. 
He  was  never  passionately  in  love  with  her,  but 
he  was  very  fond  of  her  in  his  own  way  — 
increasingly  fond  of  her  —  up  to  that  miserable 
autumn  at  Heston.  However,  after  the  decree, 
his  one  thought  was  for  Beatty.  His  whole 
soul  has  been  wrapped  up  in  that  child  from 
the  first  moment  she  was  put  into  his  arms. 
When  he  first  realized  that  his  wife  meant  to 
take  her  from  him,  Boyson  tells  me  that  he 
seemed  to  lose  his  head.  He  was  like  a  person 
unnerved  and  bewildered,  not  knowing  how  to 
act  or  where  to  turn.  First  of  all,  he  brought 
an  action  —  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  I  think 
—  to  recover  his  daughter,  as  an  English  sub- 
ject. But  the  fact  was  he  had  put  it  off  too 
long  — 

"Naturally,"  said  Penrose,  with  a  shrug. 
"Not  much  hope  for  him  —  after  the  decree." 

"So   he    discovered,    poor   old   fellow!     The 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          229 

action  was,  of  course,  obstructed  and  delayed 
in  every  way,  by  the  power  of  Mrs.  Barnes's 
millions  behind  the  scenes.  His  lawyers  told 
him  plainly  from  the  beginning  that  he  had 
precious  little  chance.  And  presently  he  found 
himself  the  object  of  a  press  campaign  in  some 
of  the  yellow  papers  —  all  of  it  paid  for  and 
engineered  by  his  wife.  He  was  held  up  as 
the  brutal  fortune-hunting  Englishman,  who 
had  beguiled  an  American  heiress  to  marry  him, 
had  carried  her  off  to  England  to  live  upon  her 
money,  had  then  insulted  her  by  scandalous 
flirtations  with  a  lady  to  whom  he  had  formerly 
been  engaged,  had  shown  her  constant  rude- 
ness and  unkindness,  and  had  finally,  in  the 
course  of  a  quarrel,  knocked  her  down,  inflicting 
shock  and  injury  from  which  she  had  suffered 
ever  since.  Mrs.  Barnes  had  happily  freed  her- 
self from  him,  but  he  was  now  trying  to  bully 
her  through  the  child  —  had,  it  was  said, 
threatened  to  carry  off  the  little  girl  by  violence. 
Mrs.  Barnes  went  in  terror  of  him.  America, 
however,  would  know  how  to  protect  both  the 
mother  and  the  child!  You  can  imagine  the 
kind  of  thing.  Well,  very  soon  Roger  began 
to  find  himself  a  marked  man  in  hotels,  followed 
in  the  streets,  persecuted  by  interviewers;  and 
the  stream  of  lies  that  found  its  way  even  into  the 
respectable  newspapers  about  him,  his  former 


230          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

life,  his  habits,  etc.,  is  simply  incredible! 
Unfortunately,  he  gave  some  handle  - 

French  paused  a  moment. 

"Ah!"  said  Penrose,  "I  have  heard  rumours." 

French  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  room. 

"It  is  a  matter  I  can  hardly  speak  of  calmly," 
he  said  at  last.  "The  night  after  that  first 
scene  between  them,  the  night  of  her  fall  — 
her  pretended  fall,  so  Roger  told  me  —  he 
went  downstairs  in  his  excitement  and  misery, 
and  drank,  one  way  and  another,  nearly  a  bottle 
of  brandy,  a  thing  he  had  never  done  in  his  life 
before.  But  - 

"He  has  often  done  it  since?" 

French  raised  his  shoulders  sadly,  then  added, 
with  some  emphasis.  "Don't,  however,  suppose 
the  thing  worse  than  it  is.  Give  him  a  gleam  of 
hope  and  happiness,  and  he  would  soon  shake 
rt  off." 

"Well,  what  came  of  his  action?" 

"Nothing  —  so  far.  ,  I  believe  he  has  ceased 
to  take  any  interest  in  it.  Another  line  of 
action  altogether  was  suggested  to  him.  About 
three  months  ago  he  made  an  attempt  to  kid- 
nap the  child,  and  was  foiled.  He  got  word 
that  she  had  been  taken  to  Charlestown,  and 
he  went  there  with  a  couple  of  private  detectives. 
But  Mrs.  Barnes  was  on  the  alert,  and  when  he 
discovered  the  villa  in  which  the  child  had  been 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          231 

living:,  she  had  been  removed.     It  was  a  bitter 

o' 

shock  and  disappointment,  and  when  he  got 
back  to  New  York  in  November,  in  the  middle 
of  an  epidemic,  he  was  struck  down  by  influenza 
and  pneumonia.  It  went  pretty  hard  with  him. 
You  will  be  shocked  by  his  appearance.  Ecco! 
was  there  ever  such  a  story !  Do  you  remember, 
Penrose,  what  a  magnificent  creature  he  was 
that  year  he  played  for  Oxford,  and  you  and  I 
watched  his  innings  from  the  pavilion?" 

There  was  a  note  of  emotion  in  the  tone 
which  implied  much.  Penrose  assented  heartily, 
remarking,  however,  that  it  was  a  magnificence 
which  seemed  to  have  cost  him  dear,  if,  as  no 
doubt  was  the  case,  it  had  won  him  his  wife. 

"But  now,  with  regard  to  money;  you  say 
he  wants  money.  But  surely,  at  the  time  of 
the  marriage,  something  was  settled  on  him  ?" 

"Certainly,  a  good  deal.  But  from  the 
moment  she  left  him,  and  the  Heston  bills  were 
paid,  he  has  never  touched  a  farthing  of  it, 
and  never  will." 

"So  that  the  General's  death  was  opportune? 
Well,  it's  a  deplorable  affair!  And  I  wish  I 
saw  any  chance  of  being  of  use." 

French  looked  up  anxiously. 

"Because  you  know,"  the  speaker  reluctantly 
continued,  "there  's  nothing  to  be  done.  The 
thing 's  finished." 


232          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"Finished?"  French's  manner  took  fire. 
"And  the  law  can  do  nothing!  Society  can  do 
nothing,  to  help  that  man  either  to  right  him- 
self, or  to  recover  his  child  ?  Ah! "  —  he  paused 
to  listen-  "here  he  is!" 

A  cab  had  drawn  up  outside.  Through 
the  lightly  curtained  windows  the  two  within 
saw  a  man  descend  from  it,  pay  the  driver,  and 
walk  up  the  flagged  passage  leading  to  the 
front  door. 

French  hurried  to  greet  the  new-comer. 

"Come  in,  Roger!  Here  's  George  Penrose 
—  as  I  promised  you.  Sit  down,  old  man. 
They  '11  bring  us  some  tea  presently." 

Roger  Barnes  looked  round  him  for  a  moment 
without  replying;  then  murmured  something 
unintelligible,  as  he  shook  hands  with  Penrose, 
and  took  the  chair  which  French  pushed  for- 
ward. French  stood  beside  him  with  a  fur- 
rowed brow. 

"Well,  here  we  are,  Roger!  —  and  if  there's 
anything  whatever  in  this  horrible  affair  where 
an  English  lawyer  can  help  you,  Penrose  is 
your  man.  You  know,  I  expect,  what  a  swell 
he  is  ?  A  K.  C.  after  seven  years  —  lucky 
dog! — and  last  year  he  was  engaged  in  an 
Anglo-American  case  not  wholly  unlike  yours 
-  Brown  v .  Brown.  So  I  thought  of  him  as  the 
best  person  among  your  old  friends  and  mine 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          233 

to  come  ?,nd  give  us  some  private  informal  help 
to-day,  before  you  take  any  fresh  steps  --if  you 
do  take  any/' 

"Awfully  good  of  you  both."  The  speaker, 
still  wrapped  in  his  fur  coat,  sat  staring  at  the 
carpet,  a  hand  on  each  of  his  knees.  "Awfully 
good  of  you,"  he  repeated  vaguely. 

Penrose  observed  the  new-comer.  In  some 
ways  Roger  Barnes  was  handsomer  than  ever. 
His  colour,  the  pink  and  white  of  his  astonish- 
ing complexion,  was  miraculously  vivid;  his 
blue  eyes  were  infinitely  more  arresting  than 
of  old;  and  the  touch  of  physical  weakness 
in  his  aspect,  left  evidently  by  severe  illness, 
was  not  only  not  disfiguring,  but  a  positive 
embellishment.  He  had 'been  too  ruddy  in  the 
old  days,  too  hearty  and  splendid  —  a  too  obvi- 
ous and  supreme  king  of  men  —  for  our  fas- 
tidious modern  eyes.  The  grief  and  misfortune 
which  had  shorn  some  of  his  radiance  had 
given  a  more  human  spell  to  what  remained. 
At  the  same  time  the  signs  of  change  were  by 
no  means,  all  of  them,  easy  to  read,  or  reassur- 
ing to  a  friend's  eye.  Were  they  no  more  than 
physical  and  transient  ? 

Penrose  was  just  beginning  on  the  questions 
which  seemed  to  him  important,  when  there 
was  another  ring  at  the  front  door.  French 
got  up  nervously,  with  an  anxious  look  at  Barnes. 


234          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"Roger!  I  don't  know  whether  you  will 
allow  it,  but  I  met  an  American  acquaintance 
of  yours  to-day,  and,  subject  to  your  permis- 
sion, I  asked  him  to  join  our  conference." 

Roger  raised  his  head  —  it  might 'have  been 
thought,  angrily. 

"Who  on  earth-     -?" 

* '  Captain   Boyson  ? ' ' 

The  young  man's  face  changed. 

"I  don't  mind  him,"  he  said  sombrely. 
"He  's  an  awfully  good  sort.  He  was  in  Phila- 
delphia a  few  months  ago,  when  I  was.  He 
knows  all  about  me.  It  was  he  and  his  sister 
who  introduced  me  to  —  my  wife." 

French  left  the  room  for  a  moment,  and 
returned  accompanied  by  a  fair-haired,  straight- 
shouldered  man,  whom  he  introduced  to  Pen- 
rose  as  Captain  Boyson. 

Roger  rose  from  his  chair  to  shake  hands. 

"How  do  you  do,  Boyson?  I  've  told  them 
you  know  all  about  it."  He  dropped  back 
heavily  into  his  seat. 

"I  thought  I  might  possibly  put  in. a  word," 
said  the  new-comer,  glancing  from  Roger  to 
his  friends.  "I  trust  I  was  not  impertinent? 
But  don't  let  me  interrupt  anything  that  was 
going  on." 

On  a  plea  of  chill,  Boyson  remained  standing 
by  the  fire,  warming  his  hands,  looking  down 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          235 

upon  the  other  three.  Penrose,  who  belonged 
to  a  military  family,  reminded  himself,  as  he 
glanced  at  the  American,  of  a  recent  distin- 
guished book  on  Military  Geography  by  a 
Captain  Alfred  Boyson.  No  doubt  the  same 
man.  A  capable  face, — the  face  of  the  modern 
scientific  soldier.  It  breathed  alertness;  but 
also  some  quality  warmer  and  softer.  If  the 
general  aspect  had  been  shaped  and  moulded 
by  an  incessant  travail  of  brain,  the  humanity 
of  eye  and  mouth  spoke  dumbly  to  the  humanity 
of  others.  The  council  gathered  in  the  vicarage 
room  felt  itself  strengthened. 

Penrose  resumed  his  questioning  of  Barnes,  and 
the  other  two  listened  while  the  whole  miserable 
story  of  the  divorce,  in  its  American  aspects, 
unrolled.  At  first  Roger  showed  a  certain 
apathy  and  brevity;  he  might  have  been  fulfilling 
a  task  in  which  he  took  but  small  interest;  even 
the  details  of  chicanery  and  corruption  con- 
nected with  the  trial  were  told  without  heat; 
he  said  nothing  bitter  of  his  wife  —  avoided 
naming  her,  indeed,  as  much  as  possible. 

But  when  the  tale  was  done  he  threw  back 
his  head  with  sudden  animation  and  looked  at 
Boyson. 

"Is  that  about  the  truth,  Boyson?  You 
know." 

"Yes,    I    endorse    it,"    said    the    American 


236          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

gravely.  His  face,  thin  and  tanned,  had  flushed 
while  Barnes  was  speaking. 

"Arid  you  know  what  all  their  papers  said 
of  me  —  what  they  wished  people  to  believe  — 
that  I  was  n't  fit  to  have  charge  of  Beatty  — 
that  I  should  have  done  her  harm?" 

His  eyes  sparkled.  He  looked  almost  threat- 
eningly at  the  man  whom  he  addressed.  Boy- 
son  met  his  gaze  quietly. 

"I    didn't   believe    it." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Roger  sprang  sud- 
denly to  his  feet,  confronting  the  men  round  him. 

"Look  here!"  he  said  impatiently.  "I  want 
some  money  at  once  —  and  a  good  lot  of  it." 
He  brought  his  fist  down  heavily  on  the  mantel- 
piece. "There  's  this  place  of  my  uncle's,  and 
I  'm  dashed  if  I  can  get  a  penny  out  of  it!  I 
went  to  his  solicitors  this  morning.  They 
drove  me  mad  with  their  red-tape  nonsense. 
It  will  take  some  time,  they  say,  to  get  a  mort- 
gage on  it,  and  meanwhile  they  don't  seem 
inclined  to  advance  me  anything,  or  a  hundred 
or  two,  perhaps.  What 's  that  ?  I  lost  my 
temper,  and  next  time  I  go  they  '11  turn  me  out, 
I  dare  say.  But  there  's  the  truth.  It 's  money 
I  want,  and  if  you  can't  help  me  to  money  it 's 
no  use  talking." 

"And  when  you  get  the  money  what  '11  you 
do  with  it?"  asked  Penrose. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          237 

"Pay  half  a  dozen  people  who  can  be  trusted 
to  help  me  kidnap  Beatty  and  smuggle  her  over 
the  Canadian  frontier.  I  bungled  the  thing 
once.  I  don't  mean  to  bungle  it  again." 

The  answer  was  given  slowly,  without  any 
bravado,  but  whatever  energy  of  life  there  was 
in  the  speaker  had  gone  into  it. 

"And  there  is  no  other  way?"  French's 
voice  from  the  back  was  troubled. 

"Ask  him?"     Roger  pointed  to  Boyson. 

"  Is  there  any  legal  way,  Boyson,  in  which  I  can 
recover  the  custody  and  companionship  of  my 
child?" 

Boyson  turned  away. 

"None  that  I  know  of --and  I  have  made 
every  possible  inquiry." 

"And  yet,"  said  Barnes,  with  emphasis, 
addressing  the  English  barrister,  "by  the  law 
of  England  I  am  still  Daphne's  husband  and 
that  child's  legal  guardian?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  if  I  could  once  get  her  upon  ground 
under  the  English  flag,  she  would  be  mine 
again,  and  no  power  could  take  her  from  me  ?" 

"Except  the  same  private  violence  that  you 
yourself  propose  to  exercise." 

"I'd  take  care  of  that!"  said  Roger  briefly. 

"How  do  you  mean  to  do  it?"  asked  French, 
with  knit  brows.  To  be  sitting  there  in  an 


238          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

English  vicarage  plotting  violence  against  a 
woman  disturbed  him. 

"He  and  I  '11  manage  it,"  said  the  quiet  voice 
of  the  American  officer. 

The  others  stared. 

"FowF"  said  French.  "An  officer  in  active 
service?  It  might  injure  your  career!" 

"I  shall  risk  it." 

A  charming  smile  broke  on  Penrose's  medita- 
tive face. 

"My  dear  French,  this  is  much  more  amus- 
ing than  the  law.  But  I  don't  quite  see  where 
/  come  in."  He  rose  tentatively  from  his  seat. 

Boyson,  however,  did  not  smile.  He  looked 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"My  sister  and  I  introduced  Daphne  Floyd  to 
Barnes,"  he  said  steadily,  "and  it  is  my  country, 
as  I  hold, —  or  a  portion  of  it  —  that  allows  these 
villainies.  Some  day  we  shall  get  a  great 
reaction  in  the  States,  and  then  the  reforms 
that  plenty  of  us  are  clamouring  for  will  come 
about.  Meanwhile,  as  of  course  you  know" 
—  he  addressed  French  —  "New  Yorkers  and 
Bostonians  suffer  almost  as  much  from  the 
abomination  that  Nevada  and  South  Dakota 
call  laws,  as  Barnes  has  suffered.  Marriage 
in  the  Eastern  States  is  as  sacred  as  with  you 
• —  South  Carolina  allows  no  divorce  at  all  — 
but  with  this  licence  at  our  gates,  no  one  is  safe, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          239 

and  thousands  of  our  women,  in  particular  — 
for  the  women  bring  two-thirds  of  the  actions  — 
are  going  to  the  deuce,  simply  because  they  have 
the  opportunity  of  going.  And  the  children  — 
it  doesn't  bear  thinking  of!  Well  —  no  good 
haranguing!  I  'm  ashamed  of  my  country  in 
this  matter  - —  I  have  been  for  a  long  time  —  and 
I  mean  to  help  Barnes  out,  coute  que  coute!  And 
as  to  the  money,  Barnes,  you  and  I  '11  discuss 
that." 

Barnes  lifted  a  face  that  quivered,  and  he 
and  Boyson  exchanged  looks. 

Penrose  glanced  at  the  pair.  That  imagina- 
tive power,  combined  with  the  power  of  drud- 
gery, which  was  in  process  of  making  a  great 
lawyer  out  of  a  Balliol  scholar,  showed  him 
something  typical  and  dramatic  in  the  two 
figures :  —  in  Boyson,  on  the  one  hand,  so  lithe, 
serviceable,  and  resolved,  a  helpful,  mercurial 
man,  ashamed  of  his  country  in  this  one  respect, 
because  he  adored  her  in  so  many  others,  peni- 
tent and  patriot  in  one:  —  in  Barnes,  on  the 
other,  so  heavy,  inert,  and  bewildered,  a  ship- 
wrecked suppliant  as  it  were,  clinging  to  the 
knees  of  that  very  America  which  had  so  lightly 
and  irresponsibly  wronged  him. 

It  was  Penrose  who  broke  the  silence. 

"Is  there  any  chance  of  Mrs.  Barnes's  marry- 
ing again  ?"  he  asked. 


240          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Barnes  turned  to  him. 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"There  's  no  one  else  in  the  case?" 

"I  never  heard  of  anyone."  Roger  gave  a 
short,  excited  laugh.  "What  she  's  done,  she  's 
done  because  she  was  tired  of  me,  not  because 
she  wras  in  love  with  anyone  else.  That  was  her 
great  score  in  the  divorce  case  —  that  there  was 
nobody." 

Biting  and  twisting  his  lip,  in  a  trick  that 
recalled  to  French  the  beautiful  Eton  lad,  crack- 
ing his  brains  in  pupil-room  over  a  bit  of  Latin 
prose,  Roger  glanced,  frowning,  from  one  to  the 
other  of  these  three  men  who  felt  for  him,  whose 
resentment  of  the  wrong  that  had  been  done  him, 
whose  pity  for  his  calamity  showed  plainly 
enough  through  their  reticent  speech. 

His  sense,  indeed,  of  their  sympathy  began 
to  move  him,  to  break  down  his  own  self- 
command.  No  doubt,  also,  the  fatal  causes 
that  ultimately  ruined  his  will-power  were 
already  at  work.  At  any  rate,  he  broke  out 
into  sudden  speech  about  his  case.  His  com- 
plexion, now  unhealthily  delicate,  like  the  com- 
plexion of  a  girl,  had  flushed  deeply.  As  he 
spoke  he  looked  mainly  at  French. 

"There 's  lots  of  things  you  don't  know," 
he  said  in  a  hesitating  voice,  as  though  appeal- 
ing to  his  old  friend.  And  rapidly  he  told  the 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          241 

story  of  Daphne's  flight  from  Heston.  Evi- 
dently since  his  return  home  many  details  that 
were  once  obscure  had  become  plain  to  him; 
and  the  three  listeners  could  perceive  how 
certain  new  information  had  goaded  and  stung 
him  afresh.  He  dwelt  on  the  letters  which 
had  reached  him  during  his  first  week's  absence 
from  home,  after  the  quarrel -- letters  from 
Daphne  and  Miss  Farmer,  which  were  posted 
at  intervals  from  Heston  by  their  accomplice, 
the  young  architect,  while  the  writers  of  them 
were  hurrying  across  the  Atlantic.  The  ser- 
vants had  been  told  that  Mrs.  Barnes,  Miss 
Farmer,  and  the  little  girl  were  going  to  London 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  suspected  nothing.  "I 
wrote  long  letters  —  lots  of  them  —  to  my  wife. 
I  thought  I  had  made  everything  right  —  not 
that  there  ever  had  been  anything  wrong,  you 
understand,  —  seriously.  But  in  some  ways  I 
had  behaved  like  a  fool." 

He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  pressing 
his  hands  on  his  eyes.  The  listeners  sat  or 
stood  motionless. 

"Well,  I  might  have  spared  my  pains.  The 
letters  were  returned  to  me  from  the  States. 
Daphne  had  arranged  it  all  so  cleverly  that 
I  was  some  time  in  tracing  her.  By  the  time  I 
had  got  to  Sioux  Falls  she  was  through  a  month 
of  her  necessary  residence.  My  God!"  -  his 


242          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

voice  dropped,  became  almost  inaudible  —  "if 
I'd  only  carried  Beatty  off  then!  —  then  and 
there  —  the  frontier  was  n't  far  off  —  without 
waiting  for  anything  more.  But  I  would  n't 
believe  that  Daphne  could  persist  in  such  a 
monstrous  thing,  and,  if  she  did,  that  any  decent 
country  would  aid  and  abet  her." 

Boyson  made  a  movement  of  protest,  as 
though  he  could  not  listen  any  longer  in  silence. 

"I  am  ashamed  to  remind  you,  Barnes, — 
again  —  that  your  case  is  no  worse  than  that 
of  scores  of  American  citizens.  We  are  the 
first  to  suffer  from  our  own  enormities." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Barnes  absently,  "perhaps." 

His  impulse  of  speech  dropped.  He  sat, 
drearily  staring  into  the  fire,  absorbed  in 
recollection. 

Penrose  had  gone.  So  had  Boyson.  Roger 
was  sitting  by  the  fire  in  the  vicar's  study, 
ministered  to  by  Elsie  French  and  her  children. 
By  common  consent  the  dismal  subject  of  the 
day  had  been  put  aside.  There  was  an  attempt 
to  cheer  and  distract  him.  The  little  boy  of 
four  was  on  his  knee,  declaiming  the  "Owl  and 
the  Pussy  Cat,"  while  Roger  submissively  turned 
the  pages  and  pointed  to  the  pictures  of  that 
immortal  history.  The  little  girl  of  two,  curled 
up  on  her  mother's  lap  close  by,  listened  sleepily, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          243 

and  Elsie,  applauding  and  prompting  as  a 
properly  regulated  mother  should,  was  all  the 
time,  in  spirit,  hovering  pitifully  about  her 
guest  and  his  plight.  There  was  in  her,  as  in 
Boyson,  a  touch  of  patriotic  remorse;  and  all 
the  pieties  of  her  own  being,  all  the  sacred 
memories  of  her  own  life,  combined  to  rouse 
in  her  indignation  and  sympathy  for  Herbert's 
poor  friend.  The  thought  of  what  Daphne 
Barnes  had  done  was  to  her  a  monstrosity 
hardly  to  be  named.  She  spoke  to  the  young 
man  kindly  and  shyly,  as  though  she  feared  lest 
any  chance  word  might  wound  him;  she  was 
the  symbol,  in  her  young  motherliness,  of  all 
that  Daphne  had  denied  and  forsaken.  "When 
would  America  —  dear,  dear  America !  —  see  to 
it  that  such  things  were  made  impossible!" 

Roger  meanwhile  was  evidently  cheered  and 
braced.  The  thought  of  the  interview  to  which 
Boyson  had  confidentially  bidden  him  on  the 
morrow  ran  warmly  in  his  veins,  and  the  children 
soothed  him.  The  little  boy  especially,  who  was 
just  Beatty's  age,  excited  in  him  a  number  of 
practical  curiosities.  How  about  the  last  teeth  ? 
He  actually  inserted  a  coaxing  and  inquiring 
finger,  the  babe  gravely  suffering  it.  Any 
trouble  with  them  ?  Beatty  had  once  been  very 
ill  with  hers,  at  Philadelphia,  mostly  caused,  how- 
ever, by  some  beastly,  indigestible  food  that  the 


244          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

nurse  had  let  her  have.  And  they  allowed  her  to 
sit  up  much  too  late.  Did  n't  Mrs.  French  think 
seven  o'clock  was  late  enough  for  any  child 
not  yet  four  ?  One  could  n't  say  that  Beatty 
was  a  very  robust  child,  but  healthy  —  oh  yes, 
healthy!  —  none  of  your  sickly,  rickety  little 
things. 

The  curtains  had  been  closed.  The  street 
children,  the  electric  light  outside,  were  no 
longer  visible.  Roger  had  begun  to  talk  of 
departure,  the  baby  had  fallen  fast  asleep  in 
her  mother's  arms,  when  there  was  another 
loud  ring  at  the  front  door. 

French,  who  was  expecting  the  headmaster 
of  his  church  schools,  gathered  up  some  papers 
and  left  the  room.  His  wife,  startled  by  what 
seemed  an  exclamation  from  him  in  the  hall 
outside,  raised  her  head  a  moment  to  listen; 
but  the  sound  of  voices  —  surely  a  woman's 
voice  ?  —  died  abruptly  away,  and  the  door  of 
the  dining-room  closed.  Roger  heard  nothing; 
he  was  laughing  and  crooning  over  the  boy. 

"The  Pobble  that  lost  his  toes 
Had  once  as  many  as  we." 

The  door  opened.  Herbert  stood  on  the 
threshold  beckoning  to  her.  She  rose  in  terror, 
the  child  in  her  arms,  and  went  out  to  him.  In 
a  minute  she  reappeared  in  the  doorway,  her 
face  ashen-white,  and  called  to  the  little  boy. 


245 

He  ran  to  her,  and  Roger  rose,  looking  for  the 
hat  he  had  put  down  on  entering. 

Then  French  came  in,  and  behind  him  a 
lady  in  black,  dishevelled,  bathed  in  tears.  The 
vicar  hung  back.  Roger  turned  in  astonishment. 

' '  Mother !  You  here  ?  Mother ! "  —  he  hur- 
ried to  her-  "what's  the  matter?" 

She  tottered  toward  him  with  outstretched 
hands. 

"Oh  Roger,  Roger!" 

His  name  died  away  in  a  wail  as  she  clasped 
him. 

"What  is  it,  mother?" 

"It 's  Beatty  —  my  son!  — my  darling  Roger!" 
She  put  up  her  hands  piteously,  bending  his 
head  down  to  her.  "It 's  a  cable  from  Wash- 
ington, from  that  woman,  Mrs.  Verrier.  They 
did  everything,  Roger  —  it  was  only  three  days 
-  and  hopeless  always.  Yesterday  convulsion 
came  on  —  and  this  morning  -  Her  head 

dropped  against  her  son's  breast  as  her  voice 
failed  her.     He  put  her  roughly  from  him. 

"What  are  you  talking  of,  mother!  Do  you 
mean  that  Beatty  has  been  ill?" 

"She  died  last  night.  Roger  —  my  darling 
son  —  my  poor  Roger!" 

"Died  — last  night  —  Beatty  ?" 

French  in  silence  handed  him  the  telegram. 
Roger  disengaged  himself  and  walked  to  the 


246          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

fireplace,  standing  motionless,  with  his  back 
to  them,  for  a  minute,  while  they  held  their 
breaths.  Then  he  began  to  grope  again  for  his 
hat,  without  a  word. 

"Come  home  with  me,  Roger!"  implored 
his  mother,  pursuing  him.  :'We  must  bear 
it  —  bear  it  together.  You  see  —  she  did  n't 
suffer"  —  she  pointed  to  the  message  —  "the 
darling !  —  the  darling ! " 

Her  voice  lost  itself  in  tears.  But  Roger 
brushed  her  away,  as  though  resenting  her 
emotion,  and  made  for  the  door. 

French  also  put  out  a  hand. 

"Roger,  dear,  dear  old  fellow!  Stay  here  with 
us  —  with  your  mother.  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

Roger  looked  at  his  watch  unsteadily. 

"The  office  will  be  closed,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; "but  I  can  put  some  things  together." 

"Where  are  you  going,  Roger?"  cried  Lady 
Barnes,  pursuing  him.  Roger  faced  her. 

"It's  Tuesday.  There'll  be  a  White  Star 
boat  to-morrow." 

-  "But,  Roger,  what  can  you  do ?  She  's  gone, 
dear  —  she  's  gone.  And  before  you  can  get 
there  —  long  before  —  she  will  be  in  her  grave." 

A  spasm  passed  over  his  face,  into  which  the 
colour  rushed.  Without  another  word  he 
wrenched  himself  from  her,  opened  the  front 
door,  and  ran  out  into  the  night. 


WAS  there  ever  anything  so  poetic,  so  sug- 
gestive ?"  said  a  charming  voice.  "  One 
might  make  a  new  Turner  out  of  it  —  if  one 
just  happened  to  be  Turner!  —  to  match  'Rain: 
Steam,  and  Speed.'  : 

"What  would  you  call  it  —  'Mist,  Light,  and 
Spring'?" 

Captain  Boyson  leant  forward,  partly  to 
watch  the  wonderful  landscape  effect  through 
which  the  train  was  passing,  partly  because  his 
young  wife's  profile,  her  pure  cheek  and  soft 
hair,  were  so  agreeably  seen  under  the  mingled 
light  from  outside. 

They  were  returning  from  their  wedding 
journey.  Some  six  weeks  before  this  date 
Boyson  had  married  in  Philadelphia  a  girl 
coming  from  one  of  the  old  Quaker  stocks 
of  that  town,  in  whose  tender  steadfastness  of 
character  a  man  inclined  both  by  nature  and 
experience  to  expect  little  from  life  had  found 
a  happiness  that  amazed  him. 

The  bridegroom,  also,  had  just  been  appointed 
to  the  Military  Attacheship  at  the  Berlin 
Embassy,  and  the  couple  were,  in  fact,  on  their 

247 


248          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

way  south  to  New  York  and  embarkation.  But 
there  were  still  a  few  days  left  of  the  honey- 
moon, of  which  they  had  spent  the  last  half  in 
Canada,  and  on  this  May  night  they  were 
journeying  from  Toronto  along  the  southern 
shore  of  Lake  Ontario  to  the  pleasant  Canadian 
hotel  which  overlooks  the  pageant  of  Niagara. 
They  had  left  Toronto  in  bright  sunshine,  but 
as  they  turned  the  corner  of  the  lake  westward, 
a  white  fog  had  come  creeping  over  the  land  as 
the  sunset  fell. 

But  the  daylight  was  still  strong,  the  fog 
thin;  so  that  it  appeared  rather  as  a  veil  of 
gold,  amethyst,  and  opal,  floating  over  the 
country,  now  parting  altogether,  now  blotting 
out  the  orchards  and  the  fields.  And  into  the 
colour  above  melted  the  colour  below.  For 
the  orchards  that  cover  the  Hamilton  district 
of  Ontario  were  in  bloom,  and  the  snow  of 
the  pear-trees,  the  flush  of  the  peach-blossom 
broke  everywhere  through  the  warm  cloud  of 
pearly  mist;  while,  just  as  Mrs.  Boyson  spoke, 
the  train  had  come  in  sight  of  the  long  flashing 
line  of  the  Welland  Canal,  which  wound  its 
way,  outlined  by  huge  electric  lamps,  through 
the  sunset  and  the  fog,  till  the  lights  died  in 
that  northern  distance  where  stretched  the 
invisible  shore  of  the  great  lake.  The  glittering 
waterway,  speaking  of  the  labour  and  com- 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          249 

merce  of  men,  the  blossom-laden  earth,  the 
white  approaching  mist,  the  softly  falling  night : 
-  the  girl-bride  could  not  tear  herself  from  the 
spectacle.  She  sat  beside  the  window  entranced. 
But  her  husband  had  captured  her  hand,  and 
into  the  overflowing  beauty  of  nature  there 
stole  the  thrill  of  their  love. 

"All  very  well!"  said  Boyson  presently. 
"But  a  fog  at  Niagara  is  no  joke!" 

The  night  stole  on,  and  the  cloud  through 
which  they  journeyed  grew  denser.  Up  crept 
the  fog,  on  stole  the  night.  The  lights  of  the 
canal  faded,  the  orchards  sank  into  darkness, 
and  when  the  bride  and  bridegroom  reached 
the  station  on  the  Canadian  side  the  bride's 
pleasure  had  become  dismay. 

"Oh,  Alfred,  we  shan't  see  anything!" 

And,  indeed,  as  their  carriage  made  its 
slow  progress  along  the  road  that  skirts  the 
gorge,  they  seemed  to  plunge  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  fog.  A  white  darkness,  as  though  of 
impenetrable  yet  glimmering  cloud,  above  and 
around  them;  a  white  abyss  beneath  them; 
and  issuing  from  it  the  thunderous  voice  of 
wild  waters,  dim  first  and  distant,  but  growing 
steadily  in  volume  and  terror. 

"There  are  the  lights  of  the  bridge!"  cried 
Boyson,  "and  the  towers  of  the  aluminum 
works.  But  not  a  vestige  of  the  Falls!  Gone! 


250          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Wiped  out!  I  say,  darling,  this  is  going  to 
be  a  disappointment." 

Mrs.  Boyson,  however,  was  not  so  sure.  The 
lovely  "nocturne"  of  the  evening  plain  had 
passed  into  a  Vision  or  Masque  of  Force  that 
captured  the  mind.  High  above  the  gulf  rose 
the  towers  of  the  great  works,  transformed 
by  the  surging  fog  and  darkness  into  some  piled 
and  castled  fortress;  a  fortress  of  Science  held 
by  Intelligence.  Lights  were  in  the  towers,  as 
of  genii  at  their  work;  lights  glimmered  here 
and  there  on  the  face  of  the  farther  cliff,  as 
though  to  measure  the  vastness  of  the  gorge 
and  of  that  resounding  vacancy  towards  which 
they  moved.  In  front,  the  arch  of  the  vast 
suspension  bridge,  pricked  in  light,  crossed  the 
gulf,  from  nothingness  to  nothingness,  like  that 
skyey  bridge  on  which  the  gods  marched  to 
Walhalla.  Otherwise,  no  shape,  no  landmark; 
earth  and  heaven  had  disappeared. 

"Here  we  are  at  the  hotel,"  said  Boyson. 
"There,  my  dear,"  -he  pointed  ironically  — 
"is  the  American  Fall,  and  there  —  is  the 
Canadian!  Let  me  introduce  you  to  Niagara!" 

They  jumped  out  of  the  carriage,  and  while 
their  bags  were  being  carried  in  they  ran  to  the 
parapeted  edge  of  the  cliff  in  front  of  the  hotel. 
Niagara  thundered  in  their  ears;  the  spray  of  it 
beat  upon  their  faces;  but  of  the  two  great  Falls 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

immediately  in  front  of  them  they  saw  nothing 
whatever.  The  fog,  now  cold  and  clammy, 
enwrapped  them;  even  the  bright  lights  of  the 
hotel,  but  a  stone's  throw  distant,  were  barely 
visible;  and  the  carriage  still  standing  at  the 
steps  had  vanished. 

Suddenly,  some  common  impulse  born  of 
the  moment  and  the  scene  —  of  its  inhuman 
ghostliness  and  grandeur  —  drew  them  to  each 
other.  Boyson  threw  his  arm  round  his  young 
wife  and  pressed  her  to  him,  kissing  her  face 
and  hair,  bedewed  by  the  spray.  She  clung  to 
him  passionately,  trembling  a  little,  as  the  roar 
deafened  them  and  the  fog  swept  round  them. 

As  the  Boysons  lingered  in  the  central  hall 
of  the  hotel,  reading  some  letters  which  had 
been  handed  to  them,  a  lady  in  black  passed 
along  the  gallery  overhead  and  paused  a  moment 
to  look  at  the  new  arrivals  brought  by  the  even- 
ing train. 

As  she  perceived  Captain  Boyson  there  was 
a  quick,  startled  movement;  she  bent  a  moment 
over  the  staircase,  as  though  to  make  sure  of 
his  identity,  and  then  ran  along  the  gallery  to 
a  room  at  the  farther  end.  As  she  opened  the 
door  a  damp  cold  air  streamed  upon  her,  and 
the  thunder  of  the  Falls,  with  which  the  hotel 
is  perpetually  filled,  seemed  to  redouble. 


252          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Three  large  windows  opposite  to  her  were, 
in  fact,  wide  open;  the  room,  with  its  lights 
dimmed  by  fog,  seemed  hung  above  the  abyss. 

An  invalid  couch  stood  in  front  of  the 
window,  and  upon  it  lay  a  pale,  emaciated 
woman,  breathing  quickly  and  feebly.  At  the 
sound  of  the  closing  door,  Madeleine  Verrier 
turned. 

"Oh,  Daphne,  I  was  afraid  you  had  gone 
out!  You  do  such  wild  things!" 

Daphne  Barnes  came  to  the  side  of  the 
couch. 

"Darling,  I  only  went  to  speak  to  your  maid 
for  a  moment.  Are  you  sure  you  can  stand  all 
this  damp  fog?" 

As  she  spoke  Daphne  took  up  a  fur  cloak 
lying  on  a  chair  near,  and  wrapped  herself 
warmly  in  it. 

"I  can't  breathe  when  they  shut  the  win- 
dows. But  it  is  too  cold  for  you." 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right  in  this."  Daphne  drew 
the  cloak  round  her. 

Inwardly  she  said  to  herself,  "Shall  I  tell 
her  the  Boysons  are  here  ?  Yes,  I  must.  She 
is  sure  to  hear  it  in  some  way." 

So,  stooping  over  the  couch,  she  said: 

"Do  you  know  who  arrived  this  evening? 
The  Alfred  Boysons.  I  saw  them  in  the  hall 
just  now." 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          253 

"They're  on  their  honeymoon?"  asked  the 
faint  voice,  after  a  just  perceptible  pause. 

Daphne  assented.  "She  seems  a  pretty  little 
thing." 

Madeleine  Verrier  opened  her  tired  eyes  to 
look  at  Daphne.  Mrs.  Floyd  —  as  Daphne  now 
called  herself  -  -  was  dressed  in  deep  black. 
The  costly  gown  revealed  a  figure  which  had 
recently  k become  substantial,  and  the  face  on 
which  the  electric  light  shone  had  nothing  left 
in  it  of  the  girl,  though  Daphne  Floyd  was  not 
yet  thirty.  The  initial  beauty  of  complexion 
was  gone;  so  was  the  fleeting  prettiness  of 
youth.  The  eyes  wrere  as  splendid  as  ever,  but 
combined  with  the  increased  paleness  of  the 
cheeks,  the  greater  prominence  and  determina- 
tion of  the  mouth,  and  a  certain  austerity  in  the 
dressing  of  the  hair,  which  was  now  firmly 
drawn  back  from  the  temples  round  which  it 
used  to  curl,  and  worn  high,  a  la  Marquise, 
they  expressed  a  personality  —  a  formidable 
personality  —  in  which  self-will  was  no  longer 
graceful,  and  power  no  longer  magnetic.  Made- 
leine Verrier  gazed  at  her  friend  in  silence. 
She  was  very  grateful  to  Daphne,  often  very 
dependent  on  her.  But  there  were  moments 
when  she  shrank  from  her,  when  she  would 
gladly  never  have  seen  her  again.  Daphne 
was  still  erect,  self-confident,  militant;  whereas 


254          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Madeleine     knew     herself     vanquished  —  van- 
quished both  in  body  and  soul. 

Certain  inner  miseries  and  discomforts  had 
been  set  vibrating  by  the  name  of  Captain 
Boyson. 

'You,  won't  want  to  see  him  or  come  across 
him?"  she  said  abruptly. 

"Who?  Alfred  Boyson?  I  am  not  afraid 
of  him  in  the  least.  He  may  say  what  he 
pleases  —  or  think  what  he  pleases.  It  does  n't 
matter  to  me." 

"When  did  you  see  him  last?" 

Daphne  hesitated  a  moment.  "When  he 
came  to  ask  me  for  certain  things  which  had 
belonged  to  Beatty." 

"For  Roger?  I  remember.  It  must  have 
been  painful." 

'Yes,"  said  Daphne  unwillingly,  "it  wras. 
He  was  very  unfriendly.  He  always  has  been 
—  since  it  happened.  But  I  bore  him  no 
malice"  —  the  tone  was  firm  —  "and  the  inter- 
view was  short." 

"_  _»  The  half  inaudible  word  fell  like  a 
sigh  from  Madeleine's  lips  as  she  closed  her  eyes 
again  to  shut  out  the  light  which  teased  them. 
And  presently  she  added,  "Do  you  ever  hear 
anything  now  —  from  England?" 

"Just  what  I  might  expect  to  hear  —  what 
more  than  justifies  all  that  I  did." 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          255 

Daphne  sat  rigid  on  her  chair,  her  hands 
crossed  on  her  lap.  Mrs.  Verrier  did  not  pur- 
sue the  conversation. 

Outside  the  fog  grew  thicker  and  darker. 
Even  the  lights  on  the  bridge  were  now  engulfed. 
Daphne  began  to  shiver  in  her  fur  cloak.  She 
put  out  a  cold  hand  and  took  one  of  Mrs. 
Verrier's. 

"Dear  Madeleine!  Indeed,  indeed,  you 
ought  to  let  me  move  you  from  this  place. 
Do  let  me!  There  's  the  house  at  Stockbridge 
all  ready.  And  in  July  I  could  take  you  to 
Newport.  I  must  be  off  next  week,  for  I  've 
promised  to  take  the  chair  at  a  big  meeting  at 
Buffalo  on  the  29th.  But  I  can't  bear  to 
leave  you  behind.  We  could  make  the  jour- 
ney quite  easy  for  you.  That  new  car  of  mine 
is  very  comfortable." 

"I  know  it  is.  But,  thank  you,  dear,  I  like 
this  hotel;  and  it  will  be  summer  directly." 

Daphne  hesitated.  A  strong  protest  against 
"morbidness"  was  on  her  lips,  but  she  did 
not  speak  it.  In  the  mist-filled  room  even 
the  bright  fire,  the  electric  lights,  had  grown 
strangely  dim.  Only  the  roar  outside  was  real 
—  terribly,  threateningly  real.  Yet  the  sound 
was  not  so  much  fierce  as  lamentable;  the 
voice  of  Nature  mourning  the  eternal  flow 
and  conflict  at  the  heart  of  things.  Daphne 


256          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

knew  well  that,  mingled  with  this  primitive, 
cosmic  voice,  there  was  —  for  Madeleine  Verrier 
-  another;  a  plaintive,  human  cry,  that  was 
drawing  the  life  out  of  her  breast,  the  blood 
from  her  veins,  like  some  baneful  witchcraft 
of  old.  But  she  dared  not  speak  of  it;  she  and 
the  doctor  who  attended  Mrs.  Verrier  dared 
no  longer  name  the  patient's  "obsession"  even 
to  each  other.  They  had  tried  to  combat 
it,  to  tear  her  from  this  place;  with  no  other 
result,  as  it  seemed,  than  to  hasten  the  death- 
process  which  was  upon  her.  Gently,  but 
firmly,  she  had  defied  them,  and  they  knew 
now  that  she  would  always  defy  them.  For 
a  year  past,  summer  and  winter,  she  had  lived 
in  this  apartment  facing  the  Falls;  her  nurses 
found  her  very  patient  under  the  incurable 
disease  which  had  declared  itself;  Daphne  came 
to  stay  with  her  when  arduous  engagements 
allowed,  and  Madeleine  was  always  grateful 
and  affectionate.  But  certain  topics,  and  cer- 
tain advocacies,  had  dropped  out  of  their  con- 
versation —  not  by  Daphne's  will.  There  had 
been  no  spoken  recantation;  only  the  prophetess 
prophesied  no  more;  and  of  late,  especially 
when  Daphne  was  not  there  —  so  Mrs.  Floyd 
had  discovered  —  a  Roman  Catholic  priest  had 
begun  to  visit  Mrs.  Verrier.  Daphne,  more- 
over, had  recently  noticed  a  small  crucifix, 


257 

hidden  among  the  folds  of  the  loose  black  dress 
which  Madeleine  commonly  wore. 

Daphne  had  changed  her  dress  and  dis- 
missed her  maid.  Although  it  was  May,  a 
wood-fire  had  been  lighted  in  her  room  to 
counteract  the  chilly  damp  of  the  evening. 
She  hung  over  it,  loth  to  go  back  to  the  sitting- 
room,  and  plagued  by  a  depression  that  not 
even  her  strong  will  could  immediately  shake 
off.  She  wished  the  Boysons  had  not  come. 
She  supposed  that  Alfred  Boyson  would  hardly 
cut  her;  but  she  was  tolerably  certain  that 
he  would  not  wish  his  young  wife  to  become 
acquainted  with  her.  She  scorned  his  dis- 
approval of  her;  but  she  smarted  under  it. 
It  combined  with  Madeleine's  strange  delu- 
sions to  put  her  on  the  defensive;  to  call  out 
all  the  fierceness  of  her  pride;  to  make  her 
feel  herself  the  champion  of  a  sound  and 
reasonable  view  of  life  as  against  weakness 
and  reaction. 

Madeleine's  dumb  remorse  was,  indeed,  the 
most  paralyzing  and  baffling  thing;  nothing 
seemed  to  be  of  any  avail  against  it,  now  that  it 
had  finally  gained  the  upper  hand.  There  had 
been  dark  times,  no  doubt,  in  the  old  days  in 
Washington;  times  when  the  tragedy  of  her 
husband's  death  had  overshadowed  her.  But 


258          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

in  the  intervals,  what  courage  and  boldness, 
what  ardour  in  the  declaration  of  that  new 
Feminist  gospel  to  which  Daphne  had  in  her 
own  case  borne  witness!  Daphne  remembered 
well  with  what  feverish  readiness  Madeleine 
had  accepted  her  own  pleas  after  her  flight 
from  England;  how  she  had  defended  her 
against  hostile  criticism,  had  supported  her  dur- 
ing the  divorce  court  proceedings,  and  tri- 
umphed in  their  result.  'You  are  unhappy? 
And  he  deceived  you  ?  Well,  then,  what  more 
do  you  want  ?  Free  yourself,  my  dear,  free 
yourself!  What  right  have  you  to  bear  more 
children  to  a  man  who  is  a  liar  and  a  shuffler? 
It  is  our  generation  that  must  suffer,  for  the 
liberty  of  those  that  come  after!" 

What  had  changed  her?  Was  it  simply 
the  approach  of  mortal  illness,  the  old  ques- 
tioning of  "what  dreams  may  come"  ?  Supersti- 
tion, in  fact?  As  a  girl  she  had  been  mystical 
and  devout;  so  Daphne  had  heard. 

Or  was  it  the  death  of  little  Beatty,  to  whom 
she  was  much  attached  ?  She  had  seen  some- 
thing of  Roger  during  that  intermediate  Phila- 
delphia stage,  when  he  and  Beatty  were  allowed 
to  meet  at  her  house;  and  she  had  once  or 
twice  astonished  and  wounded  Daphne  at  that 
time  by  sudden  expressions  of  pity  for  him. 
It  was  she  who  had  sent  the  cable  message 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          259 

announcing    the    child's    death,    wording    it    as 
gently  as  possible,  and  had  wept  in  sending  it. 

"As  if  I  had  n't  suffered  too!"  cried  Daphne's 
angry  thought.  And  she  turned  to  look  at  the 
beautiful  miniature  of  Beatty  set  in  pearls  that 
stood  upon  her  dressing-table.  There  was 
something  in  the  recollection  of  Madeleine's 
sensibility  with  regard  to  the  child  —  as  in  that 
of  her  compassion  for  the  father's  suffering  - 
that  offended  Daphne.  It  seemed  a  reflection 
upon  herself,  Beatty's  mother,  as  lacking  in 
softness  and  natural  feeling. 

On  the  contrary!  She  had  suffered  terribly; 
but  she  had  thought  it  her  duty  to  bear  it  with 
courage,  not  to  let  it  interfere  with  the  develop- 
ment of  her  life.  And  as  for  Roger,  was  it  her 
fault  that  he  had  made  it  impossible  for  her  to 
keep  her  promise  ?  That  she  had  been  forced 
to  separate  Beatty  from  him  ?  And  if,  as  she 
understood  now  from  various  English  corre- 
spondents, it  was  true  that  Roger  had  dropped 
out  of  decent  society,  did  it  not  simply  prove  that 
she  had  guessed  his  character  aright,  and  had 
only  saved  herself  just  in  time  ? 

It  was  as  though  the  sudden  presence  of 
Captain  Boyson  under  the  same  roof  had  raised 
up  a  shadowy  adversary  and  accuser,  with 
whom  she  must  go  on  thus  arguing,  and  hotly 
defending  herself,  in  a  growing  excitement. 


260          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Not  that  she  would  ever  stoop  to  argue  with 
Alfred  Boyson  face  to  face.  How  could  he  ever 
understand  the  ideals  to  which  she  had  devoted 
her  powers  and  her  money  since  the  break-up 
of  her  married  life  ?  He  could  merely  estimate 
what  she  had  done  in  the  commonest,  vulgarest 
way.  Yet  who  could  truthfully  charge  her 
with  having  obtained  her  divorce  in  order 
thereby  to  claim  any  fresh  licence  for  herself? 
She  looked  back  now  with  a  cool  amazement 
on  that  sudden  rush  of  passion  which  had 
swept  her  into  marriage,  no  less  than  the  jeal- 
ousy which  had  led  her  to  break  with  Roger. 
She  was  still  capable  of  many  kinds  of 
violence;  but  not,  probably,  of  the  violence  of 
love.  The  influence  of  sex  and  sense  upon  her 
had  weakened;  the  influence  of  ambition  had 
increased.  As  in  many  women  of  Southern 
race,  the  period  of  hot  blood  had  passed  into  a 
period  of  intrigue  and  domination.  Her  wealth 
gave  her  power,  and  for  that  power  she  lived. 

Yes,  she  was  personally  desolate,  but  she 
had  stood  firm,  and  her  reward  lay  in  the  fact 
that  she  had  gathered  round  her  an  army  of 
dependents  and  followers  —  women  especially 
-to  whom  her  money  and  her  brains  were 
indispensable.  There  on  the  table  lay  the  plans 
for  a  new  Women's  College,  on  the  broadest 
and  most  modern  lines,  to  which  she  was  soon 


261 

to  devote  a  large  sum  of  money.  The  walls 
should  have  been  up  by  now  but  for  a  quarrel 
with  her  secretary,  who  had  become  much  too 
independent,  and  had  had  to  be  peremptorily 
dismissed  at  a  moment's  notice.  But  the  plan 
was  a  noble  one,  approved  by  the  highest 
authorities;  and  Daphne,  looking  to  posterity, 
anticipated  the  recognition  that  she  herself 
might  never  live  to  see.  For  the  rest  she  had 
given  herself -- with  reservations  —  to  the 
Feminist  movement.  It  was  not  in  her  nature 
to  give  herself  wholly  to  anything;  and  she 
was  instinctively  critical  of  people  who  pro- 
fessed to  be  her  leaders,  and  programmes  to 
which  she  was  expected  to  subscribe.  Whole- 
hearted devotion,  which,  as  she  rightly  said, 
meant  blind  devotion,  had  never  been  her  line; 
and  she  had  been  on  one  or  two  occasions 
offensively  outspoken  on  the  subject  of  certain 
leading  persons  in  the  movement.  She  was 
not,  therefore,  popular  with  her  party,  and 
did  not  care  to  be;  her  pride  of  money  held 
her  apart  from  the  rank  and  file,  the  college 
girls,  and  typists,  and  journalists  who  filled 
the  Feminist  meetings,  and  often  made  them- 
selves, in  her  eyes,  supremely  ridiculous,  because 
of  what  she  considered  their  silly  provinciality 
and  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  world. 

Yet,  of  course,  she  was  a  "Feminist"  —  and 


262          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

particularly  associated  with  those  persons  in 
the  suffrage  camp  who  stood  for  broad  views 
on  marriage  and  divorce.  She  knew  very  well 
that  many  other  persons  in  the  same  camp  held 
different  opinions;  and  in  public  or  official 
gatherings  was  always  nervously  -  -  most  people 
thought  arrogantly  —  on  the  look-out  for 
affronts.  Meanwhile,  everywhere,  or  almost 
everywhere,  her  money  gave  her  power,  and  her 
knowledge  of  it  was  always  sweet  to  her.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  world  —  no  cause,  no  faith 
-that  she  could  have  accepted  "as  a  little 
child."  But  everywhere,  in  her  own  opinion, 
she  stood  for  Justice;  justice  for  women  as 
against  the  old  primaeval  tyranny  of  men; 
justice,  of  course,  to  the  workman,  and  justice 
to  the  rich.  No  foolish  Socialism,  and  no 
encroaching  Trusts!  A  lucid  common  sense,  so 
it  seemed  to  her,  had  been  her  cradle-gift. 

And  with  regard  to  Art,  how  much  she  had 
been  able  to  do!  She  had  generously  helped 
the  public  collections,  and  her  own  small 
gallery,  at  the  house  in  Newport,  was  famous 
throughout  England  and  America.  That  in 
the  course  of  the  preceding  year  she  had 
found  among  the  signatures,  extracted  from 
visitors  by  the  custodian  in  charge,  the  name 
of  Chloe  Fairmile,  had  given  her  a  peculiar 
satisfaction. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          263 

She  walked  proudly  across  the  room,  her 
head  thrown  back,  every  nerve  tense.  Let  the 
ignorant  and  stupid  blame  her  if  they  chose. 
She  stood  absolved.  Memory  reminded  her, 
moreover,  of  a  great  number  of  kind  and  gener- 
ous things — private  things  —  that  she  had 
done  with  her  money.  If  men  like  Herbert 
French,  or  Alfred  Boyson,  denounced  her, 
there  were  many  persons  who  felt  warmly 
towards  her  —  and  had  cause.  As  she  thought 
of  them  the  tears  rose  in  her  eyes.  Of  course 
she  could  never  make  such  things  public. 

Outside  the  fog  seemed  to  be  lifting  a  little. 
There  was  a  silvery  light  in  the  southeast,  a 
gleam  and  radiance  over  the  gorge.  If  the 
moon  struggled  through,  it  would  be  worth  while 
slipping  out  after  dinner  to  watch  its  play 
upon  the  great  spectacle.  She  was  careful 
to  cherish  in  herself  an  openness  to  noble 
impressions  and  to  the  high  poetry  of  nature 
and  life.  And  she  must  not  allow  herself  to  be 
led  by  the  casual  neighbourhood  of  the  Boysons 
into  weak  or  unprofitable  thought. 

The  Boysons  dined  at  a  table,  gay  with 
lights  and  flowers,  that  should  have  com- 
manded the  Falls  but  for  the  curtain  of  fog. 
Niagara,  however,  might  flout  them  if  it  pleased; 
they  could  do  without  Niagara.  They  were 


264          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

delighted  that  the  hotel,  apparently,  contained 
no  one  they  knew.  All  they  wanted  was  to  be 
together,  and  alone.  But  the  bride  was  tired 
by  a  long  day  in  the  train;  her  smiles  began 
presently  to  flag,  and  by  nine  o'clock  her  husband 
had  insisted  on  sending  her  to  rest. 

After  escorting  her  upstairs  Captain  Boyson 
returned  to  the  veranda,  which  was  brightly 
lit  up,  in  order  to  read  some  letters  that  were 
still  unopened  in  his  pocket.  But  before  he 
began  upon  them  he  was  seized  once  more 
by  the  wizardry  of  the  scene.  Was  that  indis- 
tinct glimmer  in  the  far  distance  —  that  intenser 

o 

white  on  white  —  the  eternal  cloud  of  spray 
that  hangs  over  the  Canadian  Fall  ?  If  so, 
the  fog  was  indeed  yielding,  and  the  full  moon 
behind  it  would  triumph  before  long.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  could  no  longer  see  the 
lights  of  the  bridge  at  all;  the  rolling  vapour 
choked  the  gorge,  and  the  waiter  who  brought 
him  his  coffee  drily  prophesied  that  there 
would  not  be  much  change  under  twenty-four 
hours. 

He  fell  back  upon  his  letters,  well  pleased 
to  see  that  one  among  them  came  from  Her- 
bert French,  with  whom  the  American  officer 
had  maintained  a  warm  friendship  since  the 
day  of  a  certain  consultation  in  French's  East- 
End  library.  The  letter  was  primarily  one  of 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          265 

congratulation,  written  with  all  French's  charm 
and  sympathy;  but  over  the  last  pages  of  it 
Boyson's  face  darkened,  for  they  contained  a 
deplorable  account  of  the  man  whom  he  and 
French  had  tried  to  save. 

The  concluding  passage  of  the  letter  ran  as 
follows : 

"You  will  scarcely  wonder  after  all  this 
that  we  see  him  very  seldom,  and  that  he  no 
longer  gives  us  his  confidence.  Yet  both  Elsie 
and  I  feel  that  he  cares  for  us  as  much  as  ever. 
And,  indeed,  poor  fellow,  he  himself  remains 
strangely  lovable,  in  spite  of  what  one  must 
—  alas !  —  believe  as  to  his  ways  of  life  and 
the  people  with  whom  he  associates.  There 
is  in  him,  always,  something  of  what  Meyers 
called  'the  imperishable  child.'  That  a  man 
who  might  have  been  so  easily  led  to  good 
has  been  so  fatally  thrust  into  evil  is  one  of  the 
abiding  sorrows  of  my  life.  How  can  I  reproach 
him  for  his  behaviour?  As  the  law  stands,  he 
can  never  marry;  he  can  never  have  legitimate 
children.  Under  the  wrong  he  has  suffered,  and, 
no  doubt,  in  consequence  of  that  illness  in  New 
York,  when  he  was  badly  nursed  and  cared 
for  —  from  which,  in  fact,  he  has  never  wholly 
recovered  —  his  will-power  and  nerve,  which 
were  never  very  strong,  have  given  way;  he 
broods  upon  the  past  perpetually,  and  on  the 


266          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

loss  of  his  child.  Our  poor  Apollo,  Boyson,  will 
soon  have  lost  himself  wholly,  and  there  is  no 
one  to  help. 

"Do  you  ever  see  or  hear  anything  of  that 
woman  ?  Do  you  know  what  has  become  of 
her  ?  I  see  you  are  to  have  a  Conference  on  your 
Divorce  Laws  —  that  opinion  and  indignation 
are  rising.  For  Heaven's  sake,  do  something! 
I  gather  some  appalling  facts  from  a  recent 
Washington  report.  One  in  twelve  of  all  your 
marriages  dissolved!  A  man  or  a  woman 
divorced  in  one  state,  and  still  bound  in  another! 
The  most  trivial  causes  for  the  break-up  of 
marriage,  accepted  and  acted  upon  by  corrupt 
courts,  and  reform  blocked  by  a  phalanx  of 
corrupt  interests !  Is  it  all  true  ?  An  Ameri- 
can correspondent  of  mine  —  a  lady  -  -  repeats 
to  me  what  you  once  said,  that  it  is  the  women 
who  bring  the  majority  of  the  actions.  She 
impresses  upon  me  also  the  remarkable  fact 
that  it  is  apparently  only  in  a  minority  of  cases 
that  a  woman,  when  she  has  got  rid  of  her 
husband,  marries  someone  else.  It  is  not 
passion,  therefore,  that  dictates  many  of  these 
actions;  no  serious  cause  or  feeling,  indeed,  of 
any  kind;  but  rather  an  ever-spreading  rest- 
lessness and  levity,  a  readiness  to  tamper  with 
the  very  foundations  of  society,  for  a  whim,  a 
nothing!  —  in  the  interests,  of  ten,  of  what 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          267 

women  call  their  'individuality'!  No  foolish 
talk  here  of  being  'members  one  of  another'! 
We  have  outgrown  all  that.  The  facilities  are 
always  there,  and  the  temptation  of  them.  'The 
women  —  especially -- who  do  these  things/ 
she  writes  me,  'are  moral  anarchists.  One 
can  appeal  to  nothing;  they  acknowledge  noth- 
ing. Transformations  infinitely  far-reaching 
and  profound  are  going  on  among  us." 

'  'Appeal  to  nothing!'  And  this  said  of 
women,  by  a  woman!  It  was  of  men  that  a 
Voice  said  long  ago:  'Moses,  because  of  the 
hardness  of  your  hearts,  suffered  you  to  put 
away  your  wives'  -  on  just  such  grounds 
apparently  -  -  trivial  and  cruel  pretexts  —  as 
your  American  courts  admit.  'But  I  say  unto 
you! — /  say  unto  you!'.  .  .  . 

"Well,  I  am  a  Christian  priest,  incapable, 
of  course,  of  an  unbiassed  opinion.  My  corre- 
spondent tries  to  explain  the  situation  a  little 
by  pointing  out  that  your  women  in  America 
claim  to  be  the  superiors  of  your  men,  to  be 
more  intellectual,  better-mannered,  more  refined. 
Marriage  disappoints  or  disgusts  them,  and 
they  impatiently  put  it  aside.  They  break  it 
up,  and  seem  to  pay  no  penalty.  But  you  and 
I  believe  that  they  will  pay  it!  —  that  there  are 
divine  avenging  forces  in  the  very  law  they 
tamper  with  —  and  that,  as  a  nation,  you  must 


268          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

either  retrace  some  of  the  steps  taken,  or  sink 
in  the  scale  of  life. 

"How  I  run  on!  And  all  because  my  heart 
is  hot  within  me  for  the  suffering  of  one  man, 
and  the  hardness  of  one  woman!" 

Boyson  raised  his  eyes.  As  he  did  so  he  saw 
dimly  through  the  mist  the  figure  of  a  lady,  veiled, 
and  wrapped  in  a  fur  cloak,  crossing  the  farther 
end  of  the  veranda.  He  half  rose  from  his  seat, 
with  an  exclamation.  She  ran  down  the  steps 
leading  to  the  road  and  disappeared  in  the  fog. 

Boyson  stood  looking  after  her,  his  mind  in 
a  whirl. 

The  manager  of  the  hotel  came  hurriedly 
out  of  the  same  door  by  which  Daphne  Floyd 
had  emerged,  and  spoke  to  a  waiter  on  the 
veranda,  pointing  in  the  direction  she  had  taken. 

Boyson  heard  what  was  said,  and  came  up. 
A  short  conversation  passed  between  him  and 
the  manager.  There  was  a  moment's  pause  on 
Boyson's  part;  he  still  held  French's  letter  in 
his  hand.  At  last,  thrusting  it  into  his  pocket,  he 
hurried  to  the  steps  whereby  Daphne  had  left 
the  hotel,  and  pursued  her  into  the  cloud  outside. 

The  fog  was  now  rolling  back  from  the  gorge, 
upon  the  Falls,  blotting  out  the  transient 
gleams  which  had  seemed  to  promise  a  lifting 
of  the  veil,  leaving  nothing  around  or  beneath 
but  the  white  and  thunderous  abyss. 


DAPHNE'S  purpose  in  quitting  the  hotel 
had  been  to  find  her  way  up  the  river  by 
the  road  which  runs  along  the  gorge  on  the 
Canadian  side,  from  the  hotel  to  the  Canadian 
Fall.  Thick  as  the  fog  still  was  in  the  gorge  she 
hoped  to  find  some  clearer  air  beyond  it.  She 
felt  oppressed  and  stifled;  and  though  she  had 
told  Madeleine  that  she  was  going  out  in  search 
of  effects  and  spectacle,  it  was  in  truth  the 
neighbourhood  of  Alfred  Boyson  which  had 
made  her  restless. 

The  road  was  lit  at  intervals  by  electric 
lamps,  but  after  a  time  she  found  the  passage 
of  it  not  particularly  easy.  Some  repairs  to 
the  tramway  lines  were  going  on  higher  up, 
and  she  narrowly  escaped  various  pitfalls  in  the 
shape  of  trenches  and  holes  in  the  roadway, 
very  insufficiently  marked  by  feeble  lamps. 
But  the  stir  in  her  blood  drove  her  on;  so  did 
the  strangeness  of  this  white  darkness,  suffused 
with  moonlight,  yet  in  this  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Falls,  impenetrable.  She  was 
impatient  to  get  through  it;  to  breathe  an 
unembarrassed  air. 

269 


270          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

The  roar  at  her  left  hand  grew  wilder.  She 
had  reached  a  point  some  distance  from  the 
hotel,  close  to  the  jutting  corner,  once  open, 
now  walled  and  protected,  where  the  traveller 
approaches  nearest  to  the  edge  of  the  Canadian 
Fall.  She  knew  the  spot  well,  and  groping  for 
the  wall,  she  stood  breathless  and  spray-beaten 
beside  the  gulf. 

Only  a  few  yards  from  her  the  vast  sheet 
of  water  descended.  She  could  see  nothing  of 
it,  but  the  wind  of  its  mighty  plunge  blew 
back  her  hair,  and  her  mackintosh  cloak  was 
soon  dripping  with  the  spray.  Once,  far  away, 
above  the  Falls,  she  seemed  to  perceive  a  few 
dim  lights  along  the  bend  of  the  river;  per- 
haps from  one  of  the  great  power-houses  that 
tame  to  man's  service  the  spirits  of  the  water. 
Otherwise  —  nothing!  She  was  alone  with  the 
perpetual  challenge  and  fascination  of  the 
Falls. 

As  she  stood  there  she  was  seized  by  a  tragic 
recollection.  It  was  from  this  spot,  so  she 
believed,  that  Leopold  Verrier  had  thrown 
himself  over.  The  body  had  been  carried 
down  through  the  rapids,  and  recovered,  terribly 
injured,  in  the  deep  eddying  pool  which  the 
river  makes  below  them.  He  had  left  no  letter 
or  message  of  any  sort  behind  him.  But  the 
reasons  for  his  suicide  were  clearly  understood 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          271 

by  a  large  public,  whose  main  verdict  upon  it 
was  the  quiet  "What  else  could  he  do?" 

Here,  then,  on  this  very  spot,  he  had  stood 
before  his  leap.  Daphne  had  heard  him 
described  by  various  spectators  of  the  marriage. 
He  had  been,  it  seemed,  a  man  of  sensitive 
temperament,  who  should  have  been  an  artist 
and  was  a  man  of  business;  a  considerable 
musician,  and  something  of  a  poet;  proud  of 
his  race  and  faith  and  himself  irreproachable, 
yet  perpetually  wounded  through  his  family, 
which  bore  a  name  of  ill-repute  in  the  New 
York  business  world;  passionately  grateful  to 
his  wife  for  having  married  him,  delighting  in 
her  beauty  and  charm,  and  foolishly,  abjectly 
eager  to  heap  upon  her  and  their  child  every- 
thing that  wealth  could  buy. 

"It  was  Madeleine's  mother  who  made  it 
hopeless,"  thought  Daphne.  "But  for  Mrs. 
Fanshaw  —  it  might  have  lasted." 

And  memory  called  up  Mrs.  Fanshaw,  the 
beautifully  dressed  woman  of  fifty,  with  her 
pride  of  wealth  and  family,  belonging  to  the 
strictest  sect  of  New  York's  social  elite, 
with  her  hard,  fastidious  face,  her  formidable 
elegance  and  self-possession.  How  she  had 
loathed  the  marriage!  And  with  what  a  harpy- 
like  eagerness  had  she  seized  on  the  first 
signs  of  Madeleine's  discontent  and  ennui; 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

persuaded  her  to  come  home;  prepared  the 
divorce;  poisoned  public  opinion.  It  was  from 
a  last  interview  with  Mrs.  Fanshaw  that  Leo- 
pold Verrier  had  gone  straight  to  his  death. 
What  was  it  that  she  had  said  to  him  ? 

Daphne  lingered  on  the  question;  haunted, 
too,  by  other  stray  recollections  of  the  dismal 
story  -  -  the  doctor  driving  by  in  the  early 
morning  who  had  seen  the  fall;  the  discovery 
of  the  poor  broken  body;  Madeleine's  blanched 
stoicism,  under  the  fierce  coercion  of  her  mother ; 
and  that  strong,  silent,  slow-setting  tide  of 
public  condemnation,  which  in  this  instance,  at 
least,  had  avenged  a  cruel  act. 

But  at  this  point  Daphne  ceased  to  think 
about  her  friend.  She  found  herself  suddenly 
engaged  in  a  heated  self-defence.  What  com- 
parison could  there  be  between  her  case  and 
Madeleine's  ? 

Fiercely  she  found  herself  going  through 
the  list  of  Roger's  crimes;  his  idleness,  treach- 
ery and  deceit;  his  lack  of  any  high  ideals; 
his  bad  influence  on  the  child;  his  luxurious 
self-indulgent  habits,  the  lies  he  had  told,  the 
insults  he  had  offered  her.  By  now  the  story 
had  grown  to  a  lurid  whole  in  her  imagination, 
based  on  a  few  distorted  facts,  yet  radically  and 
monstrously  untrue.  Generally,  however,  when 
she  dwelt  upon  it,  it  had  power  to  soothe  any 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          273 

smart  of  conscience,  to  harden  any  yearning  of 
the  heart,  supposing  she  felt  any.  And  by  now 
she  had  almost  ceased  to  feel  any. 

But  to-night  she  was  mysteriously  shaken 
and  agitated.  As  she  clung  to  the  wall,  which 
alone  separated  her  from  the  echoing  gulf 
beyond,  she  could  not  prevent  herself  from 
thinking  of  Roger,  Roger  as  he  was  when 
Alfred  Boyson  introduced  him  to  her,  when  they 
first  married,  and  she  had  been  blissfully  happy; 
happy  in  the  possession  of  such  a  god-like 
creature,  in  the  envy  of  other  women,  in  the 
belief  that  he  was  growing  more  and  more  truly 
attached  to  her. 

Her  thoughts  broke  abruptly.  "He  married 
me  for  money!"  cried  the  inward  voice.  Then 
she  felt  her  cheeks  tingling  as  she  remembered 
her  conversation  with  Madeleine  on  that  very 
subject  —  how  she  had  justified  wrhat  she  was 
now  judging  —  how  plainly  she  had  under- 
stood and  condoned  it. 

"That  was  my  inexperience!  Besides,  I 
knew  nothing  then  of  Chloe  Fairmile.  If  I  had 
—  I  should  never  have  done  it." 

She  turned,  startled.  Steps  seemed  to  be 
approaching  her,  of  someone  as  yet  invisible. 
Her  nerves  were  all  on  edge,  and  she  felt  sud- 
denly frightened.  Strangers  of  all  kinds  visit 
and  hang  about  Niagara;  she  was  quite  alone, 


274          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

known  to  be  the  rich  Mrs.  Floyd;  if  she  were 
attacked  —  set  upon  - 

The  outline  of  a  man's  form  emerged;  she 
heard  her  name,  or  rather  the  name  she  had 
renounced. 

"I  saw  you  come  in  this  direction,  Mrs. 
Barnes.  I  knew  the  road  was  up  in  some 
places,  and  I  thought  in  this  fog  you  would 
allow  me  to  warn  you  that  walking  was  not 
very  safe." 

The  voice  was  Captain  Boyson's;  and  they 
were  now  plain  to  each  other  as  they  stood  a 
couple  of  yards  apart.  The  fog,  however, 
was  at  last  slightly  breaking.  There  was  a 
gleam  over  the  nearer  water;  not  merely  the 
lights,  but  the  span  of  the  bridge  had  begun  to 
appear. 

Daphne  composed  herself  with  an  effort. 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you,"  she  said  in 
her  most  freezing  manner.  "But  I  found 
no  difficulty  at  all  in  getting  through,  and  the 
fog  is  lifting." 

With  a  stiff  inclination  she  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  hotel,  but  Captain  Boyson 
stood  in  her  way.  She  saw  a  face  embarrassed 
yet  resolved. 

"Mrs.  Barnes,  may  I  speak  to  you  a  few 
minutes?" 

Daphne  gave  a  slight  laugh. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          275 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  prevent  it.  So  YOU 
did  n't  follow  me,  Captain  Boyson,  out  of  mere 
regard  for  my  personal  safety?" 

"If  I  had  n't  come  myself  I  should  have  sent 
someone,"  he  replied  quietly.  "The  hotel  peo- 
ple were  anxious.  But  I  wished  to  come  myself. 
I  confess  I  had  a  very  strong  desire  to  speak 
to  you." 

;' There  seems  to  be  nothing  and  no  one  to 
interfere  with  it,"  said  Daphne,  in  a  tone  of 
sarcasm.  "I  should  be  glad,  however,  with 
your  permission,  to  turn  homeward.  I  see 
Mrs.  Boyson  is  here.  You  are,  I  suppose,  on 
your  wedding  journey?" 

He  moved  out  of  her  path,  said  a  few  con- 
ventional words,  and  they  walked  on.  A  light 
wind  had  risen  and  the  fog  was  now  breaking 
rapidly.  As  it  gave  way,  the  moonlight  poured 
into  the  breaches  that  the  wind  made;  the  vast 
black-and-silver  spectacle,  the  Falls,  the  gorge, 
the  town  opposite,  the  bridge,  the  clouds,  began 
to  appear  in  fragments,  grandiose  and 
fantastical. 

Daphne,  presently,  seeing  that  Boyson  was 
slow  to  speak,  raised  her  eyebrows  and 
attempted  a  remark  on  the  scene.  Boyson 
interrupted  her  hurriedly. 

"I  imagine,  Mrs.  Barnes,  that  what  I  wish 
to  say  will  seem  to  you  a  piece  of  insolence. 


276          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

All  the  same,  for  the  sake  of  our  former  friend- 
ship, I  would  ask  you  to  bear  with  me." 

"By  all  means!" 

"I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  in  the  hotel. 
About  half  an  hour  ago,  on  the  veranda,  I 
opened  an  English  letter  which  arrived  this 
evening.  The  news  in  it  gave  me  great  concern. 
Then  I  saw  you  appear,  to  my  astonishment,  in 
the  distance.  I  asked  the  hotel  manager  if  it 
were  really  you.  He  was  about  to  send  someone 
after  you.  An  idea  occurred  to  me.  I  saw  my 
opportunity  —  and  I  pursued  you." 

"And  here  I  am,  at  your  mercy!"  said 
Daphne,  with  sudden  sharpness.  'You  have 
left  me  no  choice.  However,  I  am  quite 
willing." 

The  voice  was  familiar  yet  strange.  There 
was  in  it  the  indefinable  hardening  and  ageing 
which  seemed  to  Boyson  to  have  affected  the 
whole  personality.  What  had  happened  to 
her  ?  As  he  looked  at  her  in  the  dim  light  there 
rushed  upon  them  both  the  memory  of  those 
three  weeks  by  the  seaside  years  before,  when 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  and  she  had  first 
trifled  with,  and  then  repulsed  him. 

"I  wished  to  ask  you  a  question,  in  the  name 
of  our  old  friendship;  and  because  I  have  also 
become  a  friend  —  as  you  know  —  of  your 
husband.' 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          277 

He  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  start  of  anger 
in  the  woman  beside  him. 

"Captain  Boyson!  I  cannot  defend  myself, 
but  I  would  ask  you  to  recognize  ordinary 
courtesies.  I  have  now  no  husband." 

"  Of  your  husband,"  he  repeated,  without 
hesitation,  yet  gently.  "By  the  law  of  England 
at  least,  which  you  accepted,  and  under  which 
you  became  a  British  subject,  you  are  still  the 
wife  of  Roger  Barnes,  and  he  has  done  nothing 
whatever  to  forfeit  his  right  to  your  wifely  care. 
It  is  indeed  of  him  and  of  his  present  state  that 
I  beg  to  be  allowed  to  speak  to  you." 

He  heard  a  little  laugh  beside  him  —  unsteady 
and  hysterical. 

'You  beg  for  what  you  have  already  taken. 
I  repeat,  I  am  at  your  mercy.  An  American 
subject,  Captain  Boyson,  knows  nothing  of  the 
law  of  England.  I  have  recovered  my  American 
citizenship,  and  the  law  of  my  country  has 
freed  me  from  a  degrading  and  disastrous 
marriage! " 

:< While  Roger  remains  bound?  Incapable, 
at  the  age  of  thirty,  of  marrying  again,  unless 
he  renounces  his  country  -  -  permanently  de- 
barred from  home  and  children!" 

His  pulse  ran  quick.  It  was  a  strange 
adventure,  this,  to  which  he  had  committed 
himself ! 


•278          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  English  law, 
nothing  whatever!  It  is  unjust,  monstrous. 
But  that  was  no  reason  why  I,  too,  should 
suffer!" 

"No  reason  for  patience?  No  reason  for 
pity?"  said  the  man's  voice,  betraying  emotion 
at  last.  "Mrs.  Barnes,  what  do  you  know  of 
Roger's  present  state?" 

"I  have  no  need  to  know  anything." 

"It  matters  nothing  to  you?  Nothing  to 
you  that  he  has  lost  health,  and  character,  and 
happiness,  his  child,  his  home,  everything, 
owing  to  your  action?" 

"Captain  Boyson!"  she  cried,  her  composure 
giving  way,  "this  is  intolerable,  outrageous! 
It  is  humiliating  that  you  should  even  expect 
me  to  argue  with  you.  Yet,"  she  bit  her  lip, 
-angry  with  the  agitation  that  would  assail  her, 
"for  the  sake  of  our  friendship  to  which  you 
appeal,  I  would  rather  not  be  angry.  What 
you  say  is  monstrous!"  her  voice  shook.  "In 
the  first  place,  I  freed  myself  from  a  man  who 
married  me  for  money." 

"One  moment!  Do  you  forget  that  from 
the  day  you  left  him  Roger  has  never  touched 
a  farthing  of  your  money  ?  That  he  returned 
everything  to  you  ? " 

"I  had  nothing  to  do  with  that;  it  was  his 
own  folly." 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          279 

"Yes,  but  it  throws  light  upon  his  character. 
Would  a  mere  fortune-hunter  have  done  it? 
No,  Mrs.  Barnes!  —  that  view  of  Roger  does  not 
really  convince  you,  you  do  not  really  believe  it.'* 

She  smiled  bitterly. 

"As  it  happens,  in  his  letters  to  me  after  I 
left  him,  he  amply  confessed  it." 

"Because  his  wish  was  to  make  peace,  to 
throw  himself  at  your  feet.  He  accused  him- 
self, more  than  was  just.  But  you  do  not  really 
think  him  mercenary  and  greedy,  you  know  that 
he  was  neither!  Mrs.  Barnes,  Roger  is  ill  and 
lonely." 

"His  mode  of  life  accounts  for  it." 

'You  mean  that  he  has  begun  to  drink,  has 
fallen  into  bad  company.  That  may  be  true, 
I  cannot  deny  it.  But  consider.  A  man  from 
whom  everything  is  torn  at  one  blow;  a  man 
of  not  very  strong  character,  not  accustomed 
to  endure  hardness. — Does  it  never  occur  to 
you  that  you  took  a  frightful  responsibility?" 

"I  protected  myself --and  my  child." 

He  breathed  deep. 

"Or  rather  —  did  you  murder  a  life  —  that 
God  had  given  you  in  trust?" 

He  paused,  and  she  paused  also,  as  though 
held  by  the  power  of  his  will.  They  were  pass- 
ing along  the  public  garden  that  borders  the 
road;  scents  of  lilac  and  fresh  leaf  floated  over 


280          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

the  damp  grass;  the  moonlight  was  growing  in 
strength,  and  the  majesty  of  the  gorge,  the 
roar  of  the  leaping  water  all  seemed  to  enter 
into  the  moral  and  human  scene,  to  accent  and 
deepen  it. 

Daphne  suddenly  clung  to  a  seat  beside  the 
path,  dropped  into  it. 

"Captain  Boyson!  I  —  I  cannot  bear  this 
any  longer." 

"I  will  not  reproach  you  any  more,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "I  beg  your  pardon.  The  past  is 
irrevocable,  but  the  present  is  here.  The  man 
who  loved  you,  the  father  of  your  child,  is  alone, 
ill,  poor,  in  danger  of  moral  ruin,  because  of 
what  you  have  done.  I  ask  you  to  go  to  his  aid. 
But  first  let  me  tell  you  exactly  what  I  have 
just  heard  from  England."  He  repeated  the 
greater  part  of  French's  letter,  so  far  as  it 
concerned  Roger. 

"He  has  his  mother,"  said  Daphne,  when 
he  paused,  speaking  with  evident  physical 
difficulty. 

"Lady  Barnes  I  hear  had  a  paralytic  stroke 
two  months  ago.  She  is  incapable  of  giving 
advice  or  help." 

"Of  course,  I  am  sorry.  But  Herbert 
French  - 

"No  one  but  a  wife  could  save  him  —  no 
one!"  he  repeated  with  emphasis. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          281 

"I  am  not  his  wife!"  she  insisted  faintly. 
"I  released  myself  by  American  law.  He  is 
nothing  to  me."  As  she  spoke  she  leant  back 
against  the  seat  and  closed  her  eyes.  Boyson 
saw  clearly  that  excitement  and  anger  had 
struck  down  her  nervous  power,  that  she  might 
faint  or  go  into  hysterics.  Yet  a  man  of  remark- 
able courtesy  and  pitifulness  towards  women 
was  not  thereby  moved  from  his  purpose.  He 
had  his  chance;  he  could  not  relinquish  it. 
Only  there  was  something  now  in  her  attitude 
which  recalled  the  young  Daphne  of  years  ago; 
which  touched  his  heart. 

He  sat  down  beside  her. 

"Bear  with  me,  Mrs.  Barnes,  for  a  few 
moments,  while  I  put  it  as  it  appears  to  another 
mind.  You  became  first  jealous  of  Roger, 
for  very  small  reason,  then  tired  of  him.  Your 
marriage  no  longer  satisfied  you  --you  resolved 
to  be  quit  of  it;  so  you  appealed  to  laws  of  which, 
as  a  nation,  we  are  ashamed,  which  all  that  is 
best  among  us  will,  before  long,  rebel  against 
and  change.  Our  State  system  permits  them  — 
America  suffers.  In  this  case  —  forgive  me  if 
I  put  it  once  more  as  it  appears  to  me  —  they 
have  been  used  to  strike  at  an  Englishman 
who  had  absolutely  no  defence,  no  redress. 
And  now  you  are  free;  he  remains  bound  — 
so  long,  at  least,  as  you  form  no  other  tie. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Again  I  ask  you,  have  you  ever  let  yourself  face 
what  it  means  to  a  man  of  thirty  to  be  cut  off 
from  lawful  marriage  and  legitimate  children  ? 
Mrs.  Barnes!  you  know  what  a  man  is,  his 
strength  and  his  weakness.  Are  you  really 
willing  that  Roger  should  sink  into  degradation 
in  order  that  you  may  punish  him  for  some 
offence  to  your  pride  or  your  feeling  ?  It  may 
be  too  late!  He  may,  as  French  fears,  have 
fallen  into  some  fatal  entanglement;  it  may  not 
be  possible  to  restore  his  health.  He  may  not 
be  able"  -  he  hesitated,  then  brought  the  words 
out  firmly-  "to  forgive  you.  Or  again, 
French's  anxieties  about  him  may  be  unfounded. 
But  for  God's  sake  go  to  him!  Once  on  English 
ground  you  are  his  wife  again  as  though  nothing 
had  happened.  For  God's  sake  put  every 
thing  aside  but  the  thought  of  the  vow  you 
once  made  to  him!  Go  back!  I  implore  you, 
go  back!  I  promise  you  that  no  happiness  you 
have  ever  felt  will  be  equal  to  the  happiness  that 
step  would  bring  you,  if  only  you  are  permitted 
to  save  him." 

Daphne  was  by  now  shaking  from  head  to 
foot.  The  force  of  feeling  which  impelled  him 
so  mastered  her  that  when  he  gravely  took 
her  hand  she  did  not  withdraw  it.  She  had  a 
strange  sense  of  having  at  last  discovered  the 
true  self  of  the  quiet,  efficient,  unpretending 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          285 

man  she  had  known  for  so  long  and  cast  so 
easily  aside.  There  was  shock  and  excitement 
in  it,  as  there  is  in  all  trials  of  strength  between 
a  man  and  a  woman.  She  tried  to  hate  and 
despise  him,  but  she  could  not  achieve  it.  She 
longed  to  answer  and  crush  him,  but  her  mind 
was  a  blank,  her  tongue  refused  its  office.  Sur- 
prise, resentment,  wounded  feeling  made  a 
tumult  and  darkness  through  which  she  could 
not  find  her  w?ay. 

She  rose  at  last  painfully  from  her  seat. 
'This    conversation    must    end,"    she    said 
brokenly.     ''Captain  Boyson,  I  appeal  to  you 
as  a  gentleman,  let  me  go  on  alone." 

He  looked  at  her  sadly  and  stood  aside.  But 
as  he  saw  her  move  uncertainly  toward  a  portion 
of  the  road  where  various  trenches  and  pits 
made  walking  difficult,  he  darted  after  her. 

"Please!"  he  said  peremptorily,  "this  bit 
is  unsafe." 

He  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm  and  guided 
her.  As  he  did  so  he  saw  that  she  was  crying;; 
no  doubt,  as  he  rightly  guessed,  from  shaken 
nerves  and  wounded  pride;  for  it  did  not  seem 
to  him  that  she  had  yielded  at  all.  But  this 
time  he  felt  distress  and  compunction. 

"Forgive  me!"  he  said,  bending  over  her. 
"But  think  of  what  I  have  said  —  I  beg  of  you 5 
Be  kind,  be  merciful!" 


284          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

She  made  various  attempts  to  speak,  and  at 
last  she  said,  "I  bear  you  no  malice.  But  you 
don't  understand  me,  you  never  have." 

He  offered  no  reply.  They  had  reached 
the  courtyard  of  the  hotel.  Daphne  withdrew 
her  hand.  When  she  reached  the  steps  she 
preceded  him  without  looking  back,  and  was 
soon  lost  to  sight. 

Boyson  shook  his  head,  lit  a  cigar,  and  spent 
some  time  longer  pacing  up  and  down  the 
veranda.  When  he  went  to  his  wife's  room 
he  found  her  asleep,  a  vision  of  soft  youth  and 
charm.  He  stood  a  few  moments  looking 
down  upon  her,  wondering  in  himself  at  what 
he  had  done.  Yet  he  knew  very  well  that  it  was 
the  stirring  and  deepening  of  his  whole  being 
produced  by  love  that  had  impelled  him  to  do  it. 

Next  morning  he  told  his  wife. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  produced  any  effect?" 
he  asked  her  anxiously.  "If  she  really  thinks 
over  what  I  said,  she  must  be  touched!  unless 
she 's  made  of  flint.  I  said  all  the  wrong 
things  —  but  I  did  rub  it  in." 

"I'm  sure  you  did,"  said  his  wife,  smil- 
ing. Then  she  looked  at  him  with  a  critical 
tenderness. 

"You  dear  optimist!"  she  cried,  and  slipped 
her  hand  into  his. 

"That  means  you   think   I  behaved   like   a 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          285 

fool,   and  that  my  appeal  won't  move  her  in 
the  least?" 

The  face  beside  him  saddened. 

"Dear,  dear  optimist!"  she  repeated,  and 
pressed  his  hand.  He  urged  an  explanation 
of  her  epithet.  But  she  only  said,  thoughtfully: 

"You  took  a  great  responsibility!" 

"Towards  her?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No  —  towards  him!" 

Meanwhile  Daphne  was  watching  beside  a 
death-bed.  On  her  return  from  her  walk 
she  had  been  met  by  the  news  of  fresh  and 
grave  symptoms  in  Mrs.  Verrier's  case.  A 
Boston  doctor  arrived  the  following  morning. 
The  mortal  disease  which  had  attacked  her  about 
a  year  before  this  date  had  entered,  so  he 
reported,  on  its  last  phase.  He  talked  of  a 
few  days  —  possibly  hours. 

The  Boysons  departed,  having  left  cards  of 
inquiry  and  sympathy,  of  which  Mrs.  Floyd 
took  no  notice.  Then  for  Daphne  there  fol- 
lowed a  nightmare  of  waiting  and  pain.  She 
loved  Madeleine  Verrier,  as  far  as  she  was 
capable  of  love,  and  she  jealously  wished  to  be 
all  in  all  to  her  in  these  last  hours.  She  would 
have  liked  to  feel  that  it  was  she  who  had  carried 
her  friend  through  them;  who  had  nobly  sus- 
tained her  in  the  dolorous  past.  To  have  been 


286          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

able  to  feel  this  would  have  been  as  balm 
moreover  to  a  piteously  wounded  self-love, 
to  a  smarting  and  bitter  recollection,  which 
would  not  let  her  rest. 

But  in  these  last  days  Madeleine  escaped 
her  altogether.  A  thin-faced  priest  arrived, 
the  same  who  had  been .  visiting  the  invalid  at 
intervals  for  a  month  or  two.  Mrs.  Verrier 
was  received  into  the  Roman  Catholic  Church; 
she  made  her  first  confession  and  communion; 
she  saw  her  mother  for  a  short,  final  interview, 
and  her  little  girl;  and  the  physical  energy 
required  for  these  acts  exhausted  her  small 
store.  Whenever  Daphne  entered  her  room 
Madeleine  received  her  tenderly;  but  she  could 
speak  but  little,  and  Daphne  felt  herself  shut 
out  and  ignored.  What  she  said  or  thought 
was  no  longer,  it  seemed,  of  any  account.  She 
resented  and  despised  Madeleine's  surrender 
to  what  she  held  to  be  a  decaying  superstition; 
and  her  haughty  manner  toward  the  mild 
Oratorian  whom  she  met  occasionally  on  the 
stairs,  or  in  the  corridor,  expressed  her  dis- 
approval. But  it  was  impossible  to  argue  with 
a  dying  woman.  She  suffered  in  silence. 

As  she  sat  beside  the  patient,  in  the  hours  of 
narcotic  sleep,  when  she  relieved  one  of  the 
nurses,  she  went  often  through  times  of  great 
bitterness.  She  could  not  forgive  the  attack 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          287 

Captain  Boyson  had  made  upon  her;  yet  she 
could  not  forget  it.  It  had  so  far  roused  her 
moral  sense  that  it  led  her  to  a  perpetual  brood- 
ing over  the  past,  a  perpetual  re-statement  of 
her  own  position.  She  was  most  troubled,  often, 
by  certain  episodes  in  the  past,  of  which,  she 
supposed  Alfred  Boyson  knew  least;  the 
corrupt  use  she  had  made  of  her  money;  the 
false  witnesses  she  had  paid  for;  the  bribes  she 
had  given.  At  the  time  it  had  seemed  to  her 
all  part  of  the  campaign,  in  the  day's  work. 
She  had  found  herself  in  a  milieu  that  demoral- 
ized her;  her  mind  had  become  like  "the 
dyer's  hand,  subdued  to  what  it  worked  in." 
Now,  she  found  herself  thinking  in  a  sudden 
terror,  "If  Alfred  Boyson  knew  so  and  so!"  or, 
as  she  looked  down  on  Madeleine's  dying 
face,  "Could  I  even  tell  Madeleine  that?" 
And  then  would  come  the  dreary  thought,  "I 
shall  never  tell  her  anything  any  more.  She 
is  lost  to  me  —  even  before  death." 

She  tried  to  avoid  thinking  of  Roger;  but 
the  memory  of  the  scene  with  Alfred  Boyson 
did,  in  truth,  bring  him  constantly  before  her. 
An  inner  debate  began,  from  which  she  could 
not  escape.  She  grew  white  and  ill  with  it. 
If  she  could  have  rushed  away  from  it ,  into  the 
full  stream  of  life,  have  thrown  herself  into 
meetings  and  discussion,  have  resumed  her 


288 

place  as  the  admired  and  flattered  head  of  a 
particular  society,  she  could  easily  have  crushed 
and  silenced  the  thoughts  which  tormented  her. 
But  she  was  held  fast.  She  could  not  desert 
Madeleine  Verrier  in  death;  she  could  not 
wrench  her  own  hand  from  this  frail  hand 
which  clung  to  it;  even  though  Madeleine  had 
betrayed  the  common  cause,  had  yielded  at 
last  to  that  moral  and  spiritual  cowardice 
which  —  as  all  freethinkers  know  —  has  spoiled 
and  clouded  so  many  death-beds.  Daphne - 
the  skimmer  of  many  books  —  remembered 
how  Renan  —  sain  et  sauf  —  had  sent  a  chal- 
lenge to  his  own  end,  and  defying  the  possible 
weakness  of  age  and  sickness,  had  demanded 
to  be  judged  by  the  convictions  of  life,  and  not 
by  the  terrors  of  death.  She  tried  to  fortify  her 
own  mind  by  the  recollection. 

The  first  days  of  June  broke  radiantly  over 
the  great  gorge  and  the  woods  which  surround 
it.  One  morning,  early,  between  four  and 
five  o'clock,  Daphne  came  in,  to  find  Madeleine 
awake  and  comparatively  at  ease.  Yet  the  pre- 
ceding twenty-four  hours  had  been  terrible,  and 
her  nurses  knew  that  the  end  could  not  be  far  off. 

The  invalid  had  just  asked  that  her  couch 
might  be  drawn  as  near  to  the  window  as 
possible,  and  she  lay  looking  towards  the  dawn, 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          289 

which  rose  in  fresh  and  windless  beauty  over 
the  town  opposite  and  the  white  splendour  of 
the  Falls.  The  American  Fall  was  still  largely 
in  shadow;  but  the  light  struck  on  the  fresh 
green  of  Goat  Island  and  leaped  in  tongues  of 
fire  along  the  edge  of  the  Horseshoe,  turning 
the  rapids  above  it  to  flame  and  sending  shafts 
into  the  vast  tower  of  spray  that  holds  the 
centre  of  the  curve.  Nature  was  all  youth, 
glitter  and  delight;  summer  was  rushing  on 
the  gorge;  the  mingling  of  wood  and  water 
was  at  its  richest  and  noblest. 

Madeleine  turned  her  face  towards  the  gorge, 
her  wasted  hands  clasped  on  her  breast.  She 
beckoned  Daphne  with  a  smile,  and  Daphne 
knelt  down  beside  her. 

"The  water!"  said  the  whispering  voice;  "it 
was  once  so  terrible.  I  am  not  afraid  --  now." 

"No,  darling.     Why  should  you  be?" 

"I  know  now,  I  shall  see  him  again." 

Daphne  was  silent. 

"I  hoped  it,  but  I  couldn't  be  certain. 
That  was  so  awful.  Now  —  I  am  certain." 

"Since  you  became  a  Catholic?" 

She  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"I  couldn't  be  uncertain  —  I  couldn't!" 
she  added  with  fervour,  looking  strangely  at 
Daphne.  And  Daphne  understood  that  no 
voice  less  positive  or  self-confident  than  that  of 


290  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Catholicism,  no  religion  less  well  provided 
with  tangible  rites  and  practices,  could  have 
lifted  from  the  spirit  the  burden  of  that  remorse 
which  had  yet  killed  the  body. 

A  little  later  Madeleine  drew  her  down  again. 

"I  couldn't  talk,  Daphne  —  I  was  afraid; 
but  I  've  written  to  you.  just  bit  by  bit,  as  I  had 
strength.  Oh,  Daphne  - 

Then  voice  and  strength  failed  her.  Her 
eyes  piteously  followed  her  friend  for  a  little, 
and  then  closed. 

She  lingered  through  the  day:  and  at  night 
when  the  June  starlight  was  on  the  gorge,  she 
passed  away,  with  the  voice  of  the  Falls  in  her 
dying  ears.  A  tragic  beauty-  "beauty  born 
of  murmuring  sound  -  -  had  passed  into  her 
face;"  and  that  great  plunge  of  many  waters, 
which  had  been  to  her  in  life  the  symbol  of 
anguish  and  guilt,  had  become  in  some  mysteri- 
ous way  the  comforter  of  her  pain,  the  friend 
of  her  last  sleep. 

A  letter  was  found  for  Daphne  in  the  little 
box  beside  her  bed. 

It  ran  thus: 

DAPHXE,  DARLING,  — 

"It  was  I  who  first  taught  you  that  we  may 
follow  our  own  lawless  wills,  and  that  marriage 
is  something  we  may  bend  or  break  as  we  will. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          291 

But,  oh!  it  is  not  so.  Marriage  is  mysterious 
and  wonderful;  it  is  the  supreme  test  of  men 
and  women.  If  we  wrong  it,  and  despise  it.  we 
mutilate  the  divine  in  ourselves. 

"Oh,  Daphne!  it  is  a  small  thing  to  say 
'Forgive!'  Yet  it  means  the  whole  world.  — 

"And  you  can  still  say  it  to  the  living.  It 
has  been  my  anguish  that  I  could  only  say  it 
to  the  dead.  .  .  Daphne,  good-bye!  I  have 
fought  a  long,  long  fight,  but  God  is  master  — 
I  bless  —  I  adore " 

Daphne  sat  staring  at  the  letter  through  a  mist 
of  unwilling  tears.  All  its  phrases,  ideas,  precon- 
ceptions, were  unwelcome,  unreal  to  her.  though 
she  knew  they  had  been  real  to  Madeleine. 

Yet  the  compulsion  of  the  dead  was  upon 
her,  and  of  her  scene  with  Boyson.  What  they 
asked  of  her  —  Madeleine  and  Alfred  Boyson  — 
was  of  course  out  of  the  question;  the  mere 
thought  of  that  humiliating  word  "forgiveness" 
sent  a  tingle  of  passion  through  her.  But  was 
there  no  third  course  ?  —  something  which 
might  prove  to  all  the  world  how  full  of  resource 
and  generosity  a  woman  may  be? 

She  pondered  through  some  sleepless  hours; 
and  at  last  she  saw  her  way  plain. 

Within  a  week  she  had  left  New  York  for 
Europe. 


THE  ship  on  which  Daphne  travelled  had 
covered  about  half  her  course.  On  a 
certain  June  evening  Mrs.  Floyd,  walking  up 
and  down  the  promenade  deck,  found  her 
attention  divided  between  two  groups  of  her 
fellow-travellers;  one  taking  exercise  on  the 
same  deck  as  herself;  the  other,  a  family  party, 
on  the  steerage  deck,  on  which  many  persons 
in  the  first  class  paused  to  look  down  with 
sympathy  as  they  reached  the  dividing  rail  aft. 

The  group  on  the  promenade  deck  con- 
sisted of  a  lady  and  gentleman,  and  a  boy  of 
seven.  The  elders  walked  rapidly,  holding 
themselves  stiffly  erect,  and  showing  no  sign 
of  acquaintance  with  anyone  on  board.  The 
child  dragged  himself  wearily  along  behind 
them,  looking  sometimes  from  side  to  side  at 
the  various  people  passing  by,  with  eyes  no 
less  furtive  than  his  mother's.  She  was  a  tall 
and  handsome  woman,  with  extravagantly 
marine  clothes  and  much  false  hair.  Her  com- 
panion, a  bulky  and  ill-favoured  man,  glanced 
superciliously  at  the  ladies  in  the  deck  chairs, 
bestowing  always  a  more  attentive  scrutiny 

292 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          293 

than  usual  on  a  very  pretty  girl,  who  was  lying 
reading  midway  down,  with  a  white  lace  scarf 
draped  round  her  beautiful  hair  and  the  har- 
monious oval  of  her  face.  Daphne,  watching 
him,  remembered  that  she  had  see  him  speak- 
ing to  the  girl  —  who  was  travelling  alone  - 
on  one  or  two  occasions.  For  the  rest,  they 
were  a  notorious  couple.  The  woman  had  been 
twice  divorced,  after  misdoings  which  had 
richly  furnished  the  newspapers;  the  man 
belonged  to  a  financial  class  with  which  reput- 
able men  of  business  associate  no  more  than 
they  are  obliged.  The  ship  left  them  severely 
alone;  and  they  retaliated  by  a  manner  clearly 
meant  to  say  that  they  did  n't  care  a  brass 
farthing  for  the  ship. 

The  group  on  the  steerage  deck  was  of  a 
very  different  kind.  It  was  made  up  of  a  con- 
sumptive wife,  a  young  husband  and  one  or 
two  children.  The  wrife's  malady,  recently 
declared,  had  led  to  their  being  refused  admis- 
sion to  the  States.  They  had  been  turned 
back  from  the  emigrant  station  on  Ellis  Island, 
and  were  now  sadly  returning  to  Liverpool. 
But  the  courage  of  the  young  and  sweet-faced 
mother,  the  devotion  of  her  Irish  husband, 
the  charm  of  her  dark-eyed  children,  had 
roused  much  feeling  in  an  idle  ship,  ready  for 
emotion.  There  had  been  a  collection  for  them 


294          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

among  the  passengers;  a  Liverpool  shipowner, 
in  the  first  class,  had  promised  work  to  the 
young  man  on  landing;  the  mother  was  to  be 
sent  to  a  sanatorium;  the  children  cared  for 
during  her  absence.  The  family  made  a  kind 
of  nucleus  round  which  whatever  humanity  — 
or  whatever  imitation  of  it  —  there  was  on 
board  might  gather  and  crystallize.  There 
were  other  mournful  cases  indeed  to  be  studied 
on  the  steerage  deck,  but  none  in  which  mis- 
fortune was  so  attractive. 

As  she  walked  up  and  down,  or  sat  in  the 
tea  room  catching  fragments  of  the  conversation 
round  her,  Daphne  was  often  secretly  angered 
by  the  public  opinion  she  perceived,  favourable 
in  the  one  case,  hostile  in  the  other.  How 
ignorant  and  silly  it  was  —  this  public  opinion. 
As  to  herself,  she  was  soon  aware  that  a  few 
people  on  board  had  identified  her  and  com- 
municated their  knowledge  to  others.  On  the 
whole,  she  felt  herself  treated  with  deference. 
Her  own  version  of  her  story  was  clearly 
accepted,  at  least  by  the  majority;  some  showed 
her  an  unspoken  but  evident  sympathy,  while 
her  wealth  made  her  generally  interesting. 
Yet  there  were  two  or  three  in  whom  she  felt 
or  fancied  a  more  critical  attitude;  who  looked 
at  her  coolly,  and  seemed  to  avoid  her.  Bos- 
tonian  Pharisees,  no  doubt ! —  ignorant  of  all 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          295 

those   great   expansions   of   the   female   destiny 
that  were  going  forward. 

The  fact  was  —  she  admitted  it  —  that  she 
was  abnormally  sensitive.  These  moral  judg- 
ments, of  different  sorts,  of  which  she  was  con- 
scious, floating  as  it  were  in  the  life  around 
her,  which  her  mind  isolated  and  magnified, 
found  her  smarting  and  sore,  and  would  not 
let  her  be.  Her  irritable  pride  was  touched 
at  every  turn;  she  hardly  knew  why.  She 
was  not  to  be  judged  by  anybody;  she  was  her 
own  defender  and  her  own  judge.  If  she  was 
no  longer  a  symbolic  and  sympathetic  figure  - 
like  that  young  mother  among  her  children 
-  she  had  her  own  claims.  In  the  secrecy  of 
the  mind  she  fiercely  set  them  out. 

The  days  passed,  however,  and  as  she  neared 
the  English  shores  her  resistance  to  a  pursuing 
thought  became  fainter.  It  was,  of  course, 
Boyson's  astonishing  appeal  to  her  that  had 
let  loose  the  Avenging  Goddesses.  She  repelled 
them  with  scorn;  yet  all  the  same  they  hurtled 
round  her.  After  all,  she  was  no  monster.  She 
had  done  a  monstrous  thing  in  a  sudden  brutality 
of  egotism;  and  a  certain  crude  state  of  law  and 
opinion  had  helped  her  to  do  it,  had  confused  the 
moral  values  and  falsified  her  conscience.  But 
she  was  not  yet  brutalized.  Moreover,  do 
what  she  would,  she  was  still  in  a  world  governed 


296          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

by  law;  a  world  at  the  heart  of  which  broods  a 
power  austere  and  immutable;  a  power  which 
man  did  not  make,  which,  if  he  clash  with 
it,  grinds  him  to  powder.  Its  manifestations  in 
Daphne's  case  were  slight,  but  enough.  She 
was  not  happy,  that  certainly  was  clear.  She 
did  not  suppose  she  ever  would  be  happy  again. 
Whatever  it  was  —  just,  heroic,  or  the  reverse  — 
the  action  by  which  she  had  violently  changed 
her  life  had  not  been  a  success,  estimated  by 
results.  No  other  man  had  attracted  her  since 
she  had  cast  Roger  off ;  her  youth  seemed  to  be 
deserting  her;  she  saw  herself  in  the  glass  every 
morning  \vith  discontent,  even  a  kind  of  terror; 
she  had  lost  her  child.  And  in  these  suspended 
hours  of  the  voyage,  when  life  floats  between  sky 
and  sea,  amid  the  infinity  of  waves,  all  that  she 
had  been  doing  since  the  divorce,  her  public 
"causes"  and  triumphs,  the  adulations  with 
which  she  had  been  surrounded,  began  to  seem 
to  her  barren  and  futile.  No,  she  was  not 
happy;  what  she  had  done  had  not  answered; 
and  she  knew  it. 

One  night,  a  night  of  calm  air  and  silvery 
sea,  she  hung  over  the  ship's  side,  dreaming 
rather  miserably.  The  ship,  aglow  with  lights, 
alive  with  movement,  with  talk,  laughter  and 
music,  glided  on  between  the  stars  and  the 


297 

unfathomable  depths  of  the  mid-Atlantic. 
Nothing,  to  north  and  south,  between  her  and 
the  Poles;  nothing  but  a  few  feet  of  iron  and 
timber  between  her  and  the  hungry  gulfs  in 
which  the  highest  Alp  would  sink  from  sight. 
The  floating  palace,  hung  by  Knowledge  above 
Death,  just  out  of  Death's  reach,  suggested  to 
her  a  number  of  melancholy  thoughts  and 
images.  A  touch  of  more  than  Arctic  cold 
stole  upon  her,  even  through  this  loveliness  of 
a  summer  night;  she  felt  desperately  unhappy 
and  alone. 

From  the  saloon  came  a  sound  of  singing: 

"An  die  Lippen  wolW  ich  pressen 

Deine  Heine  weisse  Hand, 
Und  mit  Thranen  sie  benetzen 
Deine  Heine  weisse  Hand." 

The  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  She  remembered 
that  she,  too,  had  once  felt  the  surrender  and 
the  tenderness  of  love. 

Then  she  brushed  the  tears  away,  angry 
with  herself  and  determined  to  brood  no  more. 
But  she  looked  round  her  in  vain  for  a  com- 
panion who  might  distract  her.  She  had  made 
no  friends  on  board,  and  though  she  had  brought 
with  her  a  secretary  and  a  maid,  she  kept  them 
both  at  arm's  length,  and  they  never  offered 
their  society  without  an  invitation. 


298          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

What  was  she  going  to  do  ?  And  why  was 
she  making  this  journey  ? 

Because  the  injustice  and  absurdity  of  Eng- 
lish law  had  distorted  and  besmirched  her 
own  perfectly  legitimate  action.  They  had 
given  a  handle  to  such  harsh  critics  as  Alfred 
Boyson.  But  she  meant  somehow  to  put  her- 
self right;  and  not  only  herself,  but  the  great 
cause  of  woman's  freedom  and  independence. 
No  woman,  in  the  better  future  that  is  coming, 
shall  be  forced  either  by  law  or  opinion  to 
continue  the  relations  of  marriage  with  a  man 
she  has  come  to  despise.  Marriage  is  merely 
proclaimed  love;  and  if  love  fails,  marriage  has 
no  further  meaning  or  raison  d'etre;  it  comes, 
or  should  come,  automatically  to  an  end.  This 
is  the  first  article  in  the  woman's  charter,  and 
without  it  marriage  itself  has  neither  value  nor 
sanctity.  She  seemed  to  hear  sentences  of  this 
sort,  in  her  own  voice,  echoing  about  windy 
halls,  producing  waves  of  emotion  on  a  sea 
of  strained  faces  —  women's  faces,  set  and  pale, 
like  that  of  Madeleine  Verrier.  She  had  never 
actually  made  such  a  speech,  but  she  felt  she 
would  like  to  have  made  it. 

What  was  she  going  to  do  ?  No  doubt  Roger 
would  resent  her  coming  —  would  probably 
refuse  to  see  her,  as  she  had  once  refused  to  see 
him.  Well,  she  must  try  and  act  with  dignity 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          299 

and  common  sense;  she  must  try  and  persuade 
him  to  recognize  her  good  faith,  and  to  get  him 
to  listen  to  what  she  proposed.  She  had  her 
plan  for  Roger's  reclamation,  and  was  already 
in  love  with  it.  Naturally,  she  had  never 
meant  permanently  to  hurt  or  injure  Roger! 
She  had  done  it  for  his  good  as  well  as  her  own. 
Yet  even  as  she  put  this  plea  forward  in  the 
inner  tribunal  of  consciousness,  she  knew  that 
it  was  false. 

"  You  have  murdered  a  life!"  Well,  that 
was  what  prejudiced  and  hide-bound  persons 
like  Alfred  Boyson  said,  and  no  doubt  always 
would  say.  She  could  not  help  it;  but  for  her 
own  dignity's  sake,  that  moral  dignity  in  which 
she  liked  to  feel  herself  enwrapped,  she  would 
give  as  little  excuse  for  it  as  possible. 

Then,  as  she  stood  looking  eastward,  a 
strange  thought  struck  her.  Once  on  that 
farther  shore  and  she  would  be  Roger's  wife 
again  —  an  English  subject,  and  Roger's  wife. 
How  ridiculous,  and  how  intolerable!  When 
shall  we  see  some  real  comity  of  nations  in 
these  matters  of  international  marriage  and 
divorce  ? 

She  had  consulted  her  lawyers  in  New  York 
before  starting;  on  Roger's  situation  first  of 
all,  but  also  on  her  own.  Roger,  it  seemed, 
might  take  certain  legal  steps,  once  he  was 


300          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

aware  of  her  being  again  on  English  ground. 
But,  of  course,  he  would  not  take  them.  "It 
was  never  me  he  cared  for  —  only  Beatty!"  she 
said  to  herself  with  a  bitter  perversity.  Still 
the  thought  of  returning  within  the  range  of 
the  old  obligations,  the  old  life,  affected  her 
curiously.  There  were  hours,  especially  at 
night,  when  she  felt  shut  up  with  thoughts  of 
Roger  and  Beatty  —  her  husband  and  her 
child  -  -  just  as  of  old. 

How,  in  the  name  of  justice,  was  she  to 
blame  for  Roger's  illness  ?  Her  irritable 
thoughts  made  a  kind  of  grievance  against  him 
of  the  attack  of  pneumonia  which  she  was  told 
had  injured  his  health.  He  must  have  neglected 
himself  in  some  foolish  way.  The  strongest 
men  are  the  most  reckless  of  themselves.  In 
any  case,  how  was  it  her  fault? 

One  night  she  woke  up  suddenly,  in  the 
dawn,  her  heart  beating  tumultuously.  She 
had  been  dreaming  of  her  meeting  —  her  possible 
meeting  —  with  Roger.  Her  face  was  flushed, 
her  memory  confused.  She  could  not  recall 
the  exact  words  or  incidents  of  the  dream,  only 
that  Roger  had  been  in  some  way  terrible  and 
terrifying. 

And  as  she  sat  up  in  her  berth,  trying  to  com- 
pose herself,  she  recalled  the  last  time  she 
had  seen  him  at  Philadelphia  —  a  painful  scene 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          301 

-  and  his  last  broken  words  to  her,  as  he 
turned  back  from  the  door  to  speak  them:- 

"As  to  Beatty,  I  hold  you  responsible!  She 
is  my  child,  no  less  than  yours.  You  shall 
answer  to  me!  Remember  that!" 

Answer  to  him  ?  Beatty  was  dead  —  in  spite 
of  all  that  love  and  science  could  do.  Involun- 
tarily she  began  to  weep  as  she  remembered  the 
child's  last  days;  the  little  choked  cry,  once  or 
twice,  for  "Daddy!"  followed,  so  long  as  life 
maintained  its  struggle,  by  a  childish  anger 
that  he  did  not  come.  And  then  the  silencing 
of  the  cry,  and  the  last  change  and  settling  in 
the  small  face,  so  instinct  already  with  feel- 
ing and  character,  so  prophetic  of  the  woman 
to  be. 

A  grief,  of  course,  never  to  be  got  over;  but 
for  which  she,  Daphne,  deserved  pity  and 
tenderness,  not  reproaches.  She  hardened  her- 
self to  meet  the  coming  trial. 

She  arrived  in  London  in  the  first  week  of 
July,  and  her  first  act  was  to  post  a  letter  to 
Herbert  French,  addressed  to  his  East-End 
vicarage,  a  letter  formally  expressed  and  merely 
asking  him  to  giver  the  writer  "twenty  minutes' 
conversation  on  a  subject  of  common  interest 
to  us  both."  The  letter  was  signed  "Daphne 
Floyd,"  and  a  stamped  envelope  addressed  to 


302          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"Mrs.  Floyd"  was  enclosed.  By  return  of  post 
she  received  a  letter  from  a  person  unknown  to 
her,  the  curate,  apparently,  in  charge  of  Mr. 
French's  parish.  The  letter  informed  her  that 
her  own  communication  had  not  been  forwarded, 
as  Mr.  French  had  gone  away  for  a  holiday  after 
a  threat  of  nervous  breakdown  in  consequence 
of  overwork;  and  business  letters  and  interviews 
were  being  spared  him  as  much  as  possible. 
"He  is,  however,  much  better,  I  am  glad  to 
say,  and  if  the  subject  on  which  you  wish  to 
speak  to  him  is  really  urgent,  his  present  address 
is  Prospect  House,  St.  Damian's,  Ventnor.  But 
unless  it  is  urgent  it  would  be  a  kindness  not  to 
trouble  him  with  it  until  he  returns  to  town, 
which  will  not  be  for  another  fortnight." 

Daphne  walked  restlessly  up  and  down  her 
hotel  sitting-room.  Of  course  the  matter  was 
urgent.  The  health  of  an  East-End  clergy- 
man —  already,  it  appeared,  much  amended  - 
was  not  likely  to  seem  of  much  importance  to 
a  woman  of  her  temperament,  when  it  stood  in 
the  way  of  her  plans. 

But  she  would  not  write,  she  would  go. 
She  had  good  reason  to  suppose  that  Herbert 
French  would  not  welcome  a  visit  from  her; 
he  might  indeed  very  easily  use  his  health  as  an 
excuse  for  not  seeing  her.  But  she  must  see 
him. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          303 

By  mid-day  she  was  already  on  her  way  to 
the  Isle  of  Wight.  About  five  o'clock  she 
arrived  at  Ventnor,  where  she  deposited  maid 
and  luggage.  She  then  drove  out  alone  to 
St.  Damian's,  a  village  a  few  miles  north, 
through  a  radiant  evening.  The  twinkling 
sea  was  alive  with  craft  of  all  sizes,  from  the 
great  liner  leaving  its  trail  of  smoke  along  the 
horizon,  to  the  white-sailed  yachts  close  upon  the 
land.  The  woods  of  the  Undercliff  sank  softly 
to  the  blues  and  purple,  the  silver  streaks  and 
gorgeous  shadows  of  the  sea  floor.  The  lights 
were  broad  and  rich.  After  a  hot  day,  coolness 
had  come  and  the  air  was  delightful. 

But  Daphne  sat  erect,  noticing  nothing  but 
the  relief  of  the  lowered  temperature  after  her 
hot  and  tiresome  journey.  She  applied  herself 
occasionally  to  natural  beauty,  as  she  applied 
herself  to  music  or  literature,  but  it  is  not  to 
women  of  her  type  that  the  true  passion  of  it 

"the  soul's  bridegroom"  -comes.  And  she 
was  absorbed  in  thinking  how  she  should  open 
her  business  to  Herbert  French. 

Prospect  House  turned  out  to  be  a  detached 
villa  standing  in  a  garden,  with  a  broad  view 
of  the  Channel.  Daphne  sent  her  carriage  back 
to  the  inn  and  climbed  the  steep  drive  which 
led  up  to  the  verandaed  house.  The  front 
garden  was  empty,  but  voices  —  voices,  it 


304          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

seemed,  of  children  —  came  from  behind  the 
house  where  there  was  a  grove  of  trees. 

"Is  Mr.  Herbert  French  at  home?"  she 
asked  of  the  maid  who  answered  her  bell. 

The  girl  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

'Yes,  ma'am  —  but  he  doesn't  see  visitors 
yet.  Shall  I  tell  Mrs.  French  ?  She  's  in  the 
garden  with  the  children." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Daphne,  firmly. 
"It  's  Mr.  French  I  have  come  to  see,  and  I 
am  sure  that  he  will  wish  to  see  me.  Will  you 
kindly  give  him  my  card  ?  I  will  come  in  and 
wait." 

And  she  brushed  past  the  maid,  who  was 
intimidated  by  the  visitor's  fashionable  dress 
and  by  the  drooping  feathers  of  her  Paris  hat, 
in  which  the  sharp  olive-skinned  face  with  its 
magnificent  eyes  was  picturesquely  framed. 
The  girl  gave  way  unwillingly,  showed  Mrs. 
Floyd  into  a  small  study  looking  on  the  front 
garden,  and  left  her. 

"Elsie!"  cried  Herbert  French,  springing 
from  the  low  chair  in  which  he  had  been  loung- 
ing in  his  shirt-sleeves  with  a  book  when  the 
parlour-maid  found  him,  "Elsie!" 

His  wife,  who  was  at  the  other  end  of  the 
lawn,  playing  with  the  children,  the  boy  on  her 
back  and  a  pair  of  girl  twins  clinging  to  her 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          305 

skirts,    turned    in    astonishment    and    hurried 
back  to  him. 

"Mrs.  Floyd?"  They  both  looked  at  the 
card  in  bewilderment.  "Who  is  it?  Mrs. 
Floyd?" 

Then  French's  face  changed. 

"What  is  this  lady  like?"  he  asked  peremp- 
torily of  the  parlour-maid. 

"Well,  sir,  she's  a  dark  lady,  dressed  very 
smart  - 

"Has  she  very  black  eyes?" 

"Oh  yes,   sir!" 

"Young?" 

The  girl  promptly  replied  in  the  negative, 
qualifying  it  a  moment  afterward  by  a  per- 
plexed "Well,  I  should  n't  say  so,  sir." 

French  thought  a  moment. 
•    "Thank   you.     I   will    come   in." 

He  turned  to  his  wife  with  a  rapid  question, 
under  his  breath.  "Wliere  is  Roger?" 

Elsie  stared  at  him,  her  colour  paling. 

"Herbert!  — it  can't  —  it  can't  - 

"I  suspect  it  is  —  Mrs.  Barnes,"  said  French 
slowly.  "Help  me  on  with  my  coat,  darling. 
Now  then,  what  shall  we  do?" 

"She  can't  have  come  to  force  herself  on 
him!"  cried  his  wife  passionately. 

"Probably  she  knows  nothing  of  his  being 
here.  Did  he  go  for  a  walk?" 


306          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"Yes,  towards  Sandown.  But  he  will  be 
back  directly." 

A  quick  shade  of  expression  crossed  French's 
face,  which  his  wife  knew  to  mean  that  when- 
ever Roger  was  out  by  himself  there  was  cause 
for  anxiety.  But  the  familiar  trouble  was 
immediately  swallowed  up  in  the  new  and 
pressing  one. 

"What  can  that  woman  have  come  to  say?" 
he  asked,  half  of  himself,  half  of  his  wife,  as  he 
walked  slowly  back  to  the  house.  Elsie  had 
conveyed  the  children  to  their  nurse,  and  was 
beside  him. 

"Perhaps  she  repents!"  The  tone  was  dry 
and  short;  it  flung  a  challenge  to  misdoing. 

"I  doubt  it!  But  Roger?"  French  stood 
still,  pondering.  "Keep  him,  darling  —  inter- 
cept him  if  you  can.  If  he  must  see  her,  I 
will  come  out.  But  we  must  n't  risk  a  shock." 

They  consulted  a  little  in  low  voices.  Then 
French  went  into  the  house  and  Elsie  came 
back  to  her  children.  She  stood  thinking, 
her  fine  face,  so  open-browed  and  purely  lined, 
frowning  and  distressed. 

"You  wished  to  see  me,  Mrs.  Barnes?" 
French    had    closed    the    door    of    the    study 
behind  him  and  stood  without  offering  to  shake 
hands  with  his  visitor,  coldly  regarding  her. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          307 

Daphne  rose  from  her  seat,  reddening 
involuntarily. 

"My  name  is  no  longer  what  you  once  knew 
it,  Mr.  French.  I  sent  you  my  card." 

French  made  a  slight  inclination  and  pointed 
to  the  chair  from  which  she  had  risen. 

"Pray  sit  down.  May  I  know  what  has 
brought  you  here?" 

Daphne  resumed  her  seat,  her  small  hands 
fidgeting  on  her  parasol. 

"I  wished  to  come  and  consult  with  you, 
Mr.  French.  I  had  heard  a  distressing  account 
of --of  Roger,  from  a  friend  in  America." 

"I   see,"   said   French,   on   whom   a   sudden 
light  dawned.      'You  met  Boyson  at  Niagara  - 
that   I   knew  —  and  you   are   here   because   of 
what  he  said  to  you?" 

'Yes,  partly."  The  speaker  looked  round 
the  room,  biting  her  lip,  and  French  observed 
her  for  a  moment.  He  remembered  the  foreign 
vivacity  and  dash,  the  wilful  grace  of  her  youth, 
and  marvelled  at  her  stiffened,  pretentious  air, 
her  loss  of  charm.  Instinctively  the  saint  in  him 
knew  from  the  mere  look  of  her  that  she  had 
been  feeding  herself  on  egotisms  and  falsehoods, 
and  his  heart  hardened.  Daphne  resumed: 

"If  Captain  Boyson  has  given  you  an  account 
of  our  interview,  Mr.  French,  it  was  probably 
a  one-sided  one.  However,  that  is  not  the  point. 


308          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

He  did  distress  me  very  much  by  his  account, 
which  I  gather  came  from  you  —  of  -  -  of  Roger, 
and  although,  of  course,  it  is  a  very  awkward 
matter  for  me  to  move  in,  I  still  felt  impelled 
for  old  times'  sake  to  come  over  and  see  whether 
I  could  not  help  you  —  and  his  other  friends  - 
and,  of  course,  his  mother  - 

"His  mother  is  out  of  the  question,"  inter- 
rupted French.  "She  is,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  a 
helpless  invalid." 

"Is  it  really  as  bad  as  that?  I  hoped  for 
better  news.  Then  I  apply  to  you  —  to  you 
chiefly.  Is  there  anything  that  I  could  do  to 
assist  you,  or  others,  to  - 

"To  save  him?"  French  put  in  the  words 
as  she  hesitated. 

Daphne  was  silent. 

"What  is  your  idea?"  asked  French,  after 
a  moment.  'You  heard,  I  presume,  from 
Captain  Boyson  that  my  wife  and  I  were 
extremely  anxious  about  Roger's  ways  and 
habits;  that  we  cannot  induce  him,  or,  at  any 
rate,  we  have  not  yet  been  able  to  induce  him, 
to  give  up  drinking;  that  his  health  is  extremely 
bad,  and  that  we  are  sometimes  afraid  that 
there  is  now  some  secret  in  his  life  of  which  he 
is  ashamed?" 

"Yes,"  said  Daphne,  fidgeting  with  a  book  on 
the  table.  "Yes,  that  is  what  I  heard." 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          309 

"And  you  have  come  to  suggest  something?" 

"Is  there  no  way  by  which  Roger  can  become 
as  free  as  I  now  am!"  she  said  suddenly,  throw- 
ing back  her  head. 

"By  which  Roger  can  obtain  his  divorce 
from  you  —  and  marry  again  ?  None,  in 
English  law." 

"But  there  is  —  in  Colonial  law."  She  began 
to  speak  hurriedly  and  urgently.  "If  Roger 
were  to  go  to  New  Zealand,  or  to  Australia,  he 
could,  after  a  time,  get  a  divorce  for  desertion. 
I  know  he  could  —  I  have  inquired.  It  does  n't 
seem  to  be  certain  what  effect  my  action  —  the 
American  decree,  I  mean  —  would  have  in  an 
English  colony.  My  lawyers  are  going  into  it. 
But  at  any  rate  there  is  the  desertion  and 
then"  -  she  grew  more  eager  -  "if  he  married 
abroad --in  the  Colony --the  marriage  would 
be  valid.  No  one  could  say  a  word  to  him  when 
he  returned  to  England." 

French  looked  at  her  in  silence.  She  went 
on --with  the  unconscious  manner  of  one 
accustomed  to  command  her  world,  to  be  the 
oracle  and  guide  of  subordinates  :  — 

"Could  we  not  induce  him  to  go?  Could 
you  not  ?  Very  likely  he  would  refuse  to  see 
me;  and,  of  course,  he  has,  most  unjustly  to 
me,  I  think,  refused  to  take  any  money  from  me. 
But  the  money  might  be  provided  without  his 


310          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

knowing  where  it  came  from.  A  young  doctor 
might  be  sent  with  him  —  some  nice  fellow 
who  would  keep  him  amused  and  look  after 
him.  At  Heston  he  used  to  take  a  great  interest 
in  farming.  He  might  take  up  land.  I  would 
pay  anything  —  anything !  He  might  suppose 
it  came  from  some  friend." 

French  smiled  sadly.  His  eyes  were  on  the 
ground.  She  bent  forward. 

"I  beg  of  you,  Mr.  French,  not  to  set  your- 
self against  me!  Of  course" — she  drew  her- 
self up  proudly — "I  know  what  you  must 
think  of  my  action.  Our  views  are  different, 
irreconcilably  different.  You  probably  think 
.all  divorce  wrong.  We  think,  in  America, 
that  a  marriage  which  has  become  a  burden  to 
either  party  is  no  marriage,  and  ought  to  cease. 
But  that,  of  course" — she  waved  a  rhetorical 
hand  —  "we  cannot  discuss.  I  do  not  pro- 
pose for  a  moment  to  discuss  it.  You  must 
allow  me  my  national  point  of  view.  But  surely 
we  can,  putting  all  that  aside,  combine  to  help 
Roger?" 

"To  marry  again?"  said  French,  slowly. 
"It  can't,  I  fear,  be  done  —  what  you  propose 
—  in  the  time.  I  doubt  whether  Roger  has  two 
jears  to  live." 

Daphne  started. 

"Roger!  —  to  live?"  she  repeated,  in  horror. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          311 

"What  is  really  the  matter?  Surely  nothing 
more  than  care  and  a  voyage  could  set  right?" 

French  shook  his  head. 

"We  have  been  anxious  about  him  for  some 
time.  That  terrible  attack  of  septic  pneu- 
monia in  New  York,  as  we  now  know,  left 
the  heart  injured  and  the  lungs  weakened. 
He  was  badly  nursed,  and  his  state  of  mind 
at  the  time --his  misery  and  loneliness  — 
left  him  little  chance.  Then  the  drinking  habit, 
which  he  contracted  during  those  wretched 
months  in  the  States,  has  been  of  course  sorely 
against  him.  However,  we  hoped  against  hope 
-  Elsie  and  I  —  till  a  few  weeks  ago.  Then 
someone,  we  don't  know  who,  made  him  go  to 
a  specialist,  and  the  verdict  is  —  phthisis;  not 
very  advanced,  but  certain  and  definite.  And 
the  general  outlook  is  not  favourable." 

Daphne  had  grown  pale. 

"We  must  send  him  away!"  she  said  imperi- 
ously. :fWe  must!  A  voyage,  a  good  doctor, 
a  dry  climate,  would  save  him,  of  course  they 
would!  Why,  there  is  nothing  necessarily  fatal 
now  in  phthisis!  Nothing!  It  is  absurd  to 
talk  as  though  there  were." 

Again  French  looked  at  her  in  silence.  But 
as  she  had  lost  colour,  he  had  gained  it.  His 
face,  which  the  East  End  had  already  stamped, 
had  grown  rosy,  his  eyes  sparkled. 


312          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

"Oh,  do  say  something!  Tell  me  what  you 
suggest?"  cried  Daphne. 

"Do  you  really  wish  me  to  tell  you  what  I 
suggest?'* 

Daphne  waited,  her  eyes  first  imploring, 
then  beginning  to  shrink.  He  bent  forward 
and  touched  her  on  the  arm. 

"Go,  Mrs.  Barnes,  and  ask  your  husband's 
forgiveness!  What  will  come  of  it  I  do  not 
know.  But  you,  at  least,  will  have  done  some- 
thing to  set  yourself  right  —  with  God." 

The  Christian  and  the  priest  had  spoken; 
the  low  voice  in  its  intensity  had  seemed  to  ring 
through  the  quiet  sun-flooded  room.  Daphne 
rose,  trembling  with  resentment  and  antag- 
onism. 

"It  is  you,  then,  Mr.  French,  who  make  it 
impossible  for  me  to  discuss  —  to  help.  I 
shall  have  to  see  if  I  can  find  some  other  means 
of  carrying  out  my  purpose." 

There  was  a  voice  outside.     Daphne  turned. 

"Who  is  that?" 

French  ran  to  the  glass  door  that  opened 
on  the  veranda,  and  trying  for  an  ordinary- 
tone,  waved  somebody  back  who  was  approach- 
ing from  without.  Elsie  came  quickly  round 
the  corner  of  the  house,  calling  to  the  new- 
comer. 

But  Daphne  saw  who  it  was  and  took  her  own 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  313 

course.  She,  too,  went  to  the  window,  and, 
passing  French,  she  stepped  into  the  veranda. 

"Roger!" 

A  man  hurried  through  the  dusk.  There 
was  an  exclamation,  a  silence.  By  this  time 
French  was  on  the  lawn,  his  wife's  quivering 
hand  in  his.  Daphne  retreated  slowly  into 
the  study  and  Roger  Barnes  followed  her. 

"Leave  them  alone,"  said  French,  and  putting 
an  arm  round  his  wife  he  led  her  resolutely  away, 
out  of  sound  and  sight. 

Barnes  stood  silent,  breathing  heavily  and 
leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  The  western 
light  from  a  side  window  struck  full  on  him. 
But  Daphne,  the  wave  of  excitement  spent,  was 
not  looking  at  him.  She  had  fallen  upon  a 
sofa,  her  face  was  in  her  hands. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  said  Roger 
at  last.  Then,  in  a  sudden  heat,  "By  God,  I 
never  wished  to  see  you  again!" 

Daphne's  muffled  voice  came  through  her 
fingers. 

"I  know  that.     You  needn't  tell  me  so!" 

Roger  turned  away. 

'You'll  admit  it's  an  intrusion?"  he  said 
fiercely.  "I  don't  see  what  you  and  I  have 
got  to  do  with  each  other  now." 

Daphne  struggled  for  self-control.     After  all* 


314          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

she  had  always  managed  him  in  the  old  days. 
She  would  manage  him  now. 

"Roger  —  I  —  I  didn't  come  to  discuss  the 
past.  That 's  done  with.  But  —  I  heard  things 
about  you  —  that  - 

"You  did  n't  like  ?"  he  laughed.  "I  'm  sorry, 
but  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to  do  with  them." 

Daphne's  hand  fidgeted  with  her  dress,  her 
eyes  still  cast  down. 

"Could  n't  we  talk  without  bitterness?  Just 
for  ten  minutes  ?  It  was  from  Captain  Boyson 
that  I  heard-  -" 

"Oh,  Boyson,  was  that  it?  And  he  got  his 
information  from  French  —  poor  old  Herbert. 
Well,  it 's  quite  true.  I  'm  no  longer  fit  for 
your  -  or  his  —  or  anybody's  society." 

He  threw  himself  into  an  armchair,  calmly 
took  a  cigarette  out  of  a  box  that  lay  near,  and 
lit  it.  Daphne  at  last  ventured  to  look  at  him. 
The  first  and  dominant  impression  was  of 
something  shrunken  and  diminished.  His  blue 
flannel  suit  hung  loose  on  his  shoulders  and 
chest,  his  athlete's  limbs.  His  features  had 
been  thinned  and  graved  and  scooped  by  fever 
and  broken  nights;  all  the  noble  line  and  pro- 
portion was  still  there,  but  for  one  who  had 
known  him  of  old  the  effect  was  no  longer 
beautiful  but  ghastly.  Daphne  stared  at  him 
in  dismay. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          315 

He  on  his  side  observed  his  visitor,  but  with 
a  cooler  curiosity.  Like  French  he  noticed 
the  signs  of  change,  the  dying  down  of  brilliance 
and  of  bloom.  To  go  your  own  way,  as  Daphne 
had  done,  did  not  seem  to  conduce  to  a  woman's 
good  looks. 

At  last  he  threw  in  a  dry  interrogation. 

"Well?" 

"I  came  to  try  and  help  you,"  Daphne 
broke  out,  turning  her  head  away,  "to  ask  Mr. 
French  what  I  could  do.  It  made  me 
unhappy  - 

"Did  it?"  He  laughed  again.  "I  don't 
see  why.  Oh,  you  need  n't  trouble  yourself. 
Elsie  and  Herbert  are  awfully  good  to  me. 
They  're  all  I  want,  or  at  any  rate,"  he  hesitated 
a  moment,  "they're  all  I  shall  want  —  from 
now  on.  Anyway,  you  know  there  'd  be  some- 
thing grotesque  in  your  trying  your  hand  at 
reforming  me." 

"I  didn't  mean  anything  of  the  kind!" 
she  protested,  stung  by  his  tone.  "I  —  I 
wanted  to  suggest  something  practical  —  some 
way  by  which  you  might  —  release  yourself 
from  me  —  and  also  recover  your  health." 

"Release  myself  from  you?"  he  repeated. 
"That 's  easier  said  than  done.  Did  you  mean 
to  send  me  to  the  Colonies -- was  that  your 
idea?" 


316          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

His  smile  was  hard  to  bear.  But  she  went 
on,  choking,  yet  determined. 

"That  seems  to  be  the  only  way  —  in  English 
law.  Why  should  n't  you  take  it  ?  The  voy- 
age, the  new  climate,  would  probably  set  you 
up  again.  You  need  only  be  away  a  short  time." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence  a  moment,  finger- 
ing his  cigarette. 

"Thank  you/'  he  said  at  last,  "thank  you. 
And  I  suppose  you  offered  us  money  ?  You 
told  Herbert  you  would  pay  all  expenses  ?  Oh, 
don't  be  angry !  I  did  n't  mean  anything  uncivil. 
But,"  he  raised  himself  with  energy  from  his 
lounging  position,  "at  the  same  time,  perhaps 
you  ought  to  know  that  I  would  sooner  die  a 
thousand  times  over  than  take  a  single  silver 
sixpence  that  belonged  to  you!" 

Their  eyes  met,  his  quite  calm,  hers  sparkling 
with  resentment  and  pain. 

"Of  course  I  can't  argue  with  you  if  you 
meet  me  in  that  tone,"  she  said  passionately. 
"But  I  should  have  thought - 

"Besides,"  he  interrupted  her,  "you  say 
it  is  the  only  way.  You  are  quite  mistaken. 
It  is  not  the  only  way.  As  far  as  freeing  me 
goes,  you  could  divorce  me  to-morrow  -  -  here 
-  if  you  liked.  I  have  been  unfaithful  to  you. 
A  strange  way  of  putting  it  —  at  the  present 
moment  —  between  you  and  me!  But  that's 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  317 

how  it  would  appear  in  the  English  courts. 
And  as  to  the  'cruelty'  -  that  would  n't  give 
you  any  trouble!" 

Daphne  had  flushed  deeply.  It  was  only  by 
a  great  effort  that  she  maintained  her  com- 
posure. Her  eyes  avoided  him. 

"Mrs.   Fan-mile ?"   she   said   in  a  low  voice. 

He  threw  back  his  head  with  a  sound  of 
scorn. 

"Mrs.  Fairmile!  You  don't  mean  to  tell 
me,  Daphne,  to  my  face,  that  you  ever  believed 
any  of  the  lies  —  forgive  the  expression  - 
that  you,  and  your  witnesses,  and  your  lawyers 
told  in  the  States  —  that  you  bribed  those 
precious  newspapers  to  tell  ?" 

"Of  course  I  believed  it!"  she  said  fiercely. 

"And  as  for  lies,  it  was  you  who  began  them." 

'You  believed  that  I  had  betrayed  you  with 

Chloe    Fairmile?"     He    raised    himself  again, 

fixing  his  strange  deep-set  gaze  upon  her. 

"I  never  said  - 

"No!  To  that  length  you  didn't  quite  go. 
I  admit  it.  You  were  able  to  get  your  way 
without  it."  He  sank  back  in  his  chair  again. 
"No,  my  remark  had  nothing  to  do  with  Chloe. 
I  have  never  set  eyes  on  her  since  I  left  you  at 
Heston.  But  —  there  was  a  girl,  a  shop-girl, 
a  poor  little  thing,  rather  pretty.  I  came 
across  her  about  six  months  ago  —  it  does  n't 


318          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

matter  how.  She  loves  me,  she  was  awfully 
good  to  me,  a  regular  little  brick.  Some  day 
I  shall  tell  Herbert  all  about  her  —  not  yet  — • 
though,  of  course,  he  suspects.  She  'd  serve 
your  purpose,  if  you  thought  it  worth  while. 
But  you  won't 

"You  're  —  living   with   her  —  now ?" 

"No.  I  broke  with  her  a  fortnight  ago, 
after  I  'd  seen  those  doctors.  She  made  me  see 
them,  poor  little  soul.  Then  I  went  to  say  good- 
bye to  her,  and  she,"  his  voice  shook  a  little, 
"she  took  it  hard.  But  it 's  all  right.  I  'm  not 
going  to  risk  her  life,  or  saddle  her  with  a 
dying  man.  She  's  with  her  sister.  She  '11  get 
over  it." 

He  turned  his  head  towards  the  window,  his 
eyes  pursued  the  white  sails  on  the  darkening 
blue  outside. 

"It's  been  a  bad  business,  but  it  wasn't 
altogether  my  fault.  I  saved  her  from  someone 
else,  and  she  saved  me,  once  or  twice,  from 
blowing  my  brains  out." 

"What  did  the  doctors  say  to  you?"  asked 
Daphne,  brusquely,  after  a  pause. 

"They  gave  me  about  two  years,"  he  said, 
indifferently,  turning  to  knock  off  the  end  of 
his  cigarette.  "That  does  n't  matter."  Then, 
as  his  eyes  caught  her  face,  a  sudden  animation 
sprang  into  his.  He  drew  his  chair  nearer  to 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          319 

her  and  threw  away  his  cigarette.  "Look 
here,  Daphne,  don't  let 's  waste  time.  We 
shall  never  see  each  other  again,  and  there 
are  a  number  of  things  I  want  to  know.  Tell 
me  everything  you  can  remember  about  Beatty 
that  last  six  months  —  and  about  her  illness, 
you  understand  —  never  mind  repeating  what 
you  told  Boyson,  and  he  told  me.  But  there  's 
lots  more,  there  must  be.  Did  she  ever  ask 
for  me  ?  Boyson  said  you  could  n't  remember. 
But  you  must  remember!" 

He  came  closer  still,  his  threatening  eyes 
upon  her.  And  as  he  did  so,  the  dark  presence 
of  ruin  and  death,  of  things  damning  and  irre- 
vocable, which  had  been  hovering  over  their 
conversation,  approached  with  him  —  flapped 
their  sombre  wings  in  Daphne's  face.  She 

trembled  all  over. 

t 

'Yes,"  she  said,  faintly,  "she  did  ask  for 
you." 

"Ah!"  He  gave  a  cry  of  delight.  "Tell 
me  —  tell  me  at  once  --  everything  —  from  the 
beginning!" 

And  held  by  his  will,  she  told  him  everything 

-  all  the  piteous  story  of  the  child's  last  days 

-  sobbing  herself;  and  for  the  first  time  making 
much  of  the  little  one's  signs  of  remembering 
her  father,  instead  of  minimizing  and  ignoring 
them,  as  she  had  done  in  the  talk  with  Boyson. 


320          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

It  was  as  though  for  the  first  time  she  were  trying 
to  stanch  a  wound  instead  of  widening  it. 

He  listened  eagerly.  The  two  heads  —  the 
father  and  mother  —  drew  closer;  one  might 
have  thought  them  lovers  still,  united  by  tender 
and  sacred  memories. 

But  at  last  Roger  drew  himself  away.  He 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"I'll  forgive  you  much  for  that!"  he  said 
with  a  long  breath.  "Will  you  write  it  for  me 
some  day  —  all  you've  told  me?" 

She  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"Well,  now,  you  mus  n't  stay  here  any 
longer.  I  suppose  you  've  got  a  carriage  ? 
And  we  must  n't  meet  again.  There 's  no 
object  in  it.  But  I  '11  remember  that  you 
came." 

She  looked  at  him.  In  her  nature  the  great 
deeps  were  breaking  up.  She  saw  him  as  she 
had  seen  him  in  her  first  youth.  And,  at  last, 
what  she  had  done  was  plain  to  her. 

With  a  cry  she  threw  herself  on  the  floor 
beside  him.  She  pressed  his  hand  in  hers. 

"Roger,  let  me  stay!  Let  me  nurse  you!" 
she  panted.  "I  didn't  understand.  Let  me 
be  your  friend !  Let  me  help !  I  implore  —  I 
implore  you!" 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  he  lifted  her 
to  her  feet  decidedly,  but  not  unkindly. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE          321 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said,  slowly. 
"Do  you  mean  that  you  wish  us  to  be  husband 
and  wife  again?  You  are,  of  course,  my  wife, 
in  the  eye  of  English  law,  at  this  moment." 

"Let   me   try   and   help   you!"    she   pleaded 
again,   breaking   into   bitter   tears.     "I   didn't 
-I   didn't   understand!" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"You  can't  help  me.  I  —  I'm  afraid  I 
could  n't  bear  it.  We  must  n't  meet.  It  — 
it 's  gone  too  deep." 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
walked  away  to  the  window.  She  stood  help- 
lessly weeping. 

When  he  returned  he  was  quite  composed 
again. 

"Don't  cry  so,"  he  said,  calmly.  "It 's 
done.  We  can't  help  it.  And  don't  make 
yourself  too  unhappy  about  me.  I  've  had 
awful  times.  When  I  was  ill  in  New  York  - 
it  was  like  hell.  The  pain  was  devilish,  and 
I  was  n't  used  to  being  alone,  and  nobody  caring 
a  damn,  and  everybody  believing  me  a  cad 
and  a  bully.  But  I  got  over  that.  It  was 
Beatty's  death  that  hit  me  so  hard,  and  that 
I  was  n't  there.  It 's  that,  somehow,  I  can't 
get  over  —  that  you  did  it  —  that  you  could 
have  had  the  heart.  It  would  always  come 
between  us.  No,  we  're  better  apart.  But  I  '11 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

tell  you  something  to  comfort  you.  I  've  given 
up  that  girl,  as  I  've  told  you,  and  I  've  given 
up  drink.  Herbert  won't  believe  it,  but  he  '11 
find  it  is  so.  And  I  don't  mean  to  die  before 
my  time.  I  'm  going  out  to  Switzerland  directly. 
I  '11  do  all  the  correct  things.  You  see,  when  a 
man  knows  he  's  going  to  die,  well,"  he  turned 
away,  "he  gets  uncommonly  curious  as  to 
what 's  going  to  come  next." 

He  walked  up  and  down  a  few  turns.  Daphne 
watched  him. 

"I'm  not  pious  —  I  never  was.  But  after 
all,  the  religious  people  profess  to  know  some- 
thing about  it,  and  nobody  else  does.  Just 
supposing  it  were  true?" 

He  stopped  short,  looking  at  her.  She  under- 
stood perfectly  that  he  had  Beatty  in  his  mind. 

"Well,  anyhow,  I  'm  going  to  live  decently 
for  the  rest  of  my  time  —  and  die  decently. 
I  'm  not  going  to  throw  away  chances.  And 
don't  trouble  yourself  about  money.  There  's 
enough  left  to  carry  me  through.  Good-bye, 
Daphne!"  He  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

She  took  it,  still  dumbly  weeping.  He  looked 
at  her  with  pity. 

"Yes,  I  know,  you  didn't  understand  what 
you  were  doing.  But  you  see,  Daphne,  marriage 

is "  he  sought  rather  painfully  for  his  words, 

"it 's  a  big  thing.  If  it  does  n't  make  us,  it 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE  323 

ruins  us;  I  did  n't  marry  you  for  the  best  of 
reasons,  but  I  was  very  fond  of  you  —  honour 
bright!  I  loved  you  in  my  way,  I  should  have 
loved  you  more  and  more.  I  should  have  been 
a  decent  fellow  if  you  'd  stuck  to  me.  I  had 
all  sorts  of  plans;  you  might  have  taught  me 
anything.  I  was  a  fool  about  Chloe  Fairmile, 
but  there  was  nothing  in  it,  you  know  there 
was  n't.  And  now  it 's  all  rooted  up  and  done 
with.  Women  like  to  think  such  things  can  be 
mended,  but  they  can't  —  they  can't,  indeed. 
It  would  be  foolish  to  try." 

Daphne  sank  upon  a  chair  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands.  He  drew  a  long  and  pain- 
ful breath.  "I  'm  afraid  I  must  go,"  he  said 
waveringly.  "I  —  I  can't  stand  this  any 
longer.  Good-bye,  Daphne,  good-bye." 

She  only  sobbed,  as  though  her  life  dissolved 
in  grief.  He  drew  near  to  her,  and  as  she 
wept,  hidden  from  him,  he  laid  his  hand  a 
moment  on  her  shoulder.  Then  he  took  up 
his  hat. 

"I  'm  going  now,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"I  shan't  come  back  till  you  have  gone." 

She  heard  him  cross  the  room,  his  steps  in 
the  veranda.  Outside,  in  the  summer  dark, 
a  figure  came  to  meet  him.  French  drew 
Roger's  arm  into  his,  and  the  two  walked  away. 
The  shadows  of  the  wooded  lane  received  them. 


324          MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

A  woman  came  quickly  into  the  room. 

Elsie  French  looked  down  upon  the  sobbing 
Daphne,  her  own  eyes  full  of  tears,  her  hands 
clasped. 

"Oh,  you  poor  thing!"  she  said,  under  her 
breath.  'You  poor  thing!"  And  she  knelt 
down  beside  her  and  folded  her  arms  round  her. 

So  from  the  same  heart  that  had  felt  a  passion- 
ate pity  for  the  victim,  compassion  flowed  out 
on  the  transgressor.  For  where  others  feel 
the  tragedy  of  suffering,  the  pure  in  heart  realize 
with  an  infinitely  sharper  pain  the  tragedy 
of  guilt. 

THE  END 


